Guilty Conscience
by bookdiva
Summary: My hiatus story. An alternate story line from 5x19 that stays completely realistic and adds characters from all shows in the same universe as NCIS: LA. Please read and review to let me know what you think!
1. The Hospital

**AN: Hello friends! So... I am still working on my other stories, but I've been planning this one for the hiatus. I will update every Sunday (unless something crazy and out-of-my-control happens) and I would love it if you would take this journey with me.**

 **Just remember what kind of stories I write... and leave a review! That always helps ensure an update!**

 **Blessings,**

 **bookdiva**

* * *

Her vision swam in and out. For a moment, he was there in the building with her, tied up right beside her. Then the scene faded, only to be replaced with a different scene. This time, she was on a beach. He was there too, and he was looking at her with a serious expression that didn't fit the relaxed atmosphere of the beach.

"I have to go surf," he said, his eyes still a serious, icy blue. His tone conveyed a much more ominous meaning than his words revealed, but she still attempted a smile.

"I'll come with you," she said, but as she shifted to get up and follow him, searing pain shot through her entire body.

"No," he said, shaking his head at her sadly. " _You_ have to stay. _I_ have to go."

And with that, her vision of the ocean waves faded away.

This time, it was replaced with a beeping noise. Her surroundings smelled like bleach and sickness; her body was completely numb—the kind of numbness only extreme painkillers can achieve—and when she forced her eyes open, she was staring at a sterile, white ceiling. She blinked once, then twice. Finally, the room came into focus.

Callen was sitting to her left, staring straight ahead—asleep, but not asleep. He was not the man she expected to see, and he certainly wasn't the man she _wanted_ to see.

"Where's Deeks?" Kensi demanded, her voice sounding scratchy even to her own ears. Callen's sharp gaze widened and connected with hers.

"Kens!" he exclaimed, a smile lighting up his face. He reached over and pushed the call button. "You're awake!"

She just snorted, annoyed that he hadn't answered her question.

"Yeah," she forced out, even as her throat protested. "Deeks?" she repeated. She thought she saw a flash of fear and pain in Callen's eyes for a brief moment, but as soon as she'd seen it, it was gone.

"I'm so glad you're awake, Ms. Blye," a nurse said, entering the room. Kensi glared at her, but she just smiled. She was young, blonde, and bouncy. Kensi had no doubt that they'd end up clashing over her partner at some point throughout her stay, but for the moment, Kensi decided to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

"Mr. Callen, if you could just step out briefly, I need to examine Ms. Blye," the nurse said, shooting a cheerful smile at Callen.

"No!" Kensi exclaimed, her heart monitor beeping erratically. "Where's Deeks? He has to be here! Why isn't he here?"

Callen looked frantically at the nurse, but she was already trying to calm Kensi.

"Ms. Blye, please calm down. I'm sure this Deeks will be here soon," she said. Kensi looked to Callen for confirmation, but his icy blue eyes were—as usual—unreadable.

"Calm down and let the nurse examine you," Callen hedged. "Then we'll talk."

Kensi shook her head stubbornly, wincing at the pain the motion caused. "Deeks," she repeated.

"Okay," Callen agreed, his voice still emotionless. "Calm down, let the nurse examine you, and then we'll talk about Deeks."

Kensi thought about it for a moment, but she realized it was probably the best offer she was going to get. She nodded and Callen slipped out of the room.

 _Maybe LAPD called him back unexpectedly,_ she reasoned as the nurse examined her. She ignored the pain caused by the poking and prodding. _Maybe he's hurt, too, and I need to go to him. Maybe the others know about us, and they ordered him away. Maybe he's working on another part of the case, so he has to finish before he can come see me. Maybe he went to shower. Maybe—_

"Okay, Ms. Blye," the nurse said kindly, pulling Kensi from her thoughts. "Your superficial abrasions are healing nicely. You have a few bruised ribs, and those will be painful for a few weeks, but again, they will heal. You were dehydrated when you came in, so we have you on an IV to replenish your fluids. When you feel up to it, start drinking on your own."

Kensi nodded, staring past the nurse who just smiled in understanding.

"If you need anything, press this button," she said, holding up the call button. Kensi nodded firmly, dismissing the nurse.

"So where is he?" Kensi demanded before Callen had even reached her bedside. "Why would you send him away?"

It was the only explanation that made any sense in her mind. He had to have been forced away, because there was no way Marty Deeks would voluntarily abandon her, injured or otherwise.

"Kens," Callen whispered as he walked to her side, his voice finally hinting at some emotion. "When we got the word that you were missing, we immediately formed a rescue plan. We all flew over."

Kensi nodded, ignoring the feeling of her heart sinking in her chest.

"I—I know. You guys saved me," she said gratefully. "But where is Deeks?"

"We were under heavy fire, and we had two buildings to check. We knew you were in one of them, but we didn't know which one. So we split up. Sam and I took one—and we found you—and Granger and Deeks took the other one."

"Wait," Kensi rasped, holding up her hand to stop Callen. Confused. "You're telling me he's still clearing that building? How long have we been here?"

Callen shook his head sadly, and Sam, who'd slipped into the room at some point, laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"He was desperate to find you, Kensi," he whispered. "But he was still being smart. It wasn't his fault. Or yours, for that matter."

"What wasn't our fault?" Kensi demanded, fed up with this little story. She could tell he was stalling, but she couldn't figure out why.

"The building Granger and Deeks were searching was rigged to explode," Callen said softly. "Deeks was behind Granger when exiting. Granger is in surgery now, but Deeks didn't make it. He was still inside when it exploded."

 _Deeks didn't make it. Deeks didn't make it. Deeks didn't make it. Deeks didn't make it. Deeks didn't make it._

The words echoed like a mantra in Kensi's head.

First she was hit with denial. It couldn't possibly be true. He'd come sauntering through her door with that cocky grin and say _gotcha_ , and she'd punch him and tell him he wasn't funny—because this wasn't funny at all.

But he didn't.

Then came the guilt. It was crushing. She could barely breathe, and her heart started doing crazy things on the monitor. If she hadn't gone and gotten herself captured—all for a man who'd abandoned her a decade ago—then her Deeks would still be alive.

She felt a lone tear slip down her cheek. It trailed down her left cheek, onto her chest right above her heart.

And then her gaze hardened. She straightened up as much as she could in her hospital bed and with her injuries, and she clenched her jaw against any further emotion. Agent Blye would not die in this hospital room, but Kensi— _his_ _Fern_ —was gone, lost forever with the man who didn't know she loved him.

And oh, how she loved him.

"Kensi?" a tentative knock came from the door. Agent Blye—no longer Kensi—looked up to find Jack standing in her doorway.

She remembered seeing him through her scope, recognizing him, knowing that he could never do what he was accused of, purposefully missing the shot, and then—

And that was when the anger hit her.

"Kensi, I just wanted to say thank you," Jack said, stepping into her room. "Without you—"

"I wish I had just shot you," Agent Blye stated, her mismatched eyes flashing in hatred. "If I'd just shot you, he'd still be alive. That's on me. So leave." Silence hung in the air as everyone just stared at her. "All of you!" she said, raising her voice slightly. "Leave now!"


	2. Somewhere in Afghanistan

_**AN: Wow! I was so pleased that so many of you liked this story. Now, it is finally Sunday again, so here is chapter two. I hope you enjoy it!**_

 _ **Also, please assume that the proper language is being used. I don't want to take the time to write out pashto or whatever, and then let you know what it means in english. It's all written in english, but of course, in reality, the characters wouldn't all be speaking english.**_

 ** _Blessings,_**

 ** _bookdiva_**

* * *

Penance was nothing new to Ziva David. In fact, for the last two years, it had been all she'd allowed herself to think about. Working in a small village in Afghanistan, using her skills to help and heal others' pain instead of to cause pain, was starting to ease the ache that had been a constant presence in her heart.

Her one regret—her biggest regret—was Tony. But she didn't think of him here. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of thoughts of Tony, simply because it was a _luxury_. And she was serving penance. There was no room for luxury in penance.

Ziva held in her sigh and smiled down at the little girl on her lap. Two weeks ago, this nameless girl had been orphaned, presumably by the Taliban, and she had yet to speak. Ziva was the only one the girl seemed to trust, and she was constantly following Ziva around. She would spend time around the other women, but the men, even the kindest, most gentle ones, caused her a great deal of distress.

"Alright, my little angel," Ziva spoke in the girl's native tongue. "Let us go see about getting you something to e—"

She was cut off by a commotion at the edge of the village.

"He's dead!" one voice called out English.

"No," argued another older, gruffer sounding voice. "He was awake only moments ago."

The little girl turned away at the loud voices, rushing away deeper into the village. Ziva looked after her, but another woman stopped her. She nodded toward the Americans and spoke to Ziva.

"You go speak to them," she said in the native language. "You know what it is they say. I will find the girl."

Ziva nodded. As much as she wanted to go after the girl, Ziva was the only one in the village who spoke fluent English. It would be up to her to help the soldiers. It was, after all, part of the reason she was here.

"Lieutenant," Ziva called in English, easily reading the insignia on the officer's uniform. The other man—older, with a rough beard and sharp gray eyes—looked at Ziva suspiciously. "What is going on?"

"Thank God, you speak English," the lieutenant said, not bothering to ask how she knew he was a lieutenant. "We're pretty sure he's an American. We found him in an abandoned compound, two clicks west of here," he explained, pointing in the general direction.

"Near as we can tell, he was being tortured for information," the other man added, "but when they heard us coming they shot him in the leg. Seems to have missed the femoral artery, but only just. Do you recognize him? Has he been in this area before?"

Ziva shook her head.

"No," she said. "I do not recognize him. But I do know that we must get him medical attention. Follow me, and I will translate with the doctors for you."

The two Americans lifted the man, who was now undoubtedly either unconscious or dead, and began dragging/carrying him as they followed Ziva across the camp. As a sanctity for refugees, the camp was equipped with some of the best medical staff in the area.

"This medical station is set up for the refugees that we help," Ziva told the Americans. "I'm sure that we will have everything that your man needs."

They just gave a grateful nod, slowing as they entered the medical tent.

"Dr. Kasun," Ziva called in Arabic. The Serbian doctor straightened up and turned around. "This man is injured—tortured for information, with a GSW to the thigh, though it seems to have missed the femoral artery."

What happened next was a flurry of chaos. Ziva effectively shut off her emotions as the list of injuries the unnamed man had endured hit a little too close to home. She could not afford a flash back to her time in Somalia, so she focused entirely on the man on the table.

He was so dirt covered that she couldn't tell the color of his skin, but his long, floppy hair—that somehow managed to retain it's light color—indicated that he was white.

Suddenly, the man regained consciousness. His eyes snapped open, though they focused nowhere, and Ziva was startled at their color. All of the refugees, volunteers, and even the few Americans she had come into contact with had dark, native-looking eyes. This man, however, had eyes the color of the ocean—the way it looked on a warm, tropical beach.

It startled her, and threatened to send her back to memories of another set of light eyes. But then the man spoke.

"Fern!" he called out desperately. His voice was hoarse—and Ziva cringed at the pain she knew he was in—but his voice was desperate enough to indicate that whatever 'Fern' meant, it was more important than his pain.

 _Is Fern an operation? An asset? A target?_ she wondered. Her mind adamantly refused to wonder if Fern was his wife, sister, mother, daughter…

Ziva shook it off and focused on holding the man down. Finally, Dr. Kasun had finished working

"He has a compound fracture on the lateral side of his left fibula," Dr. Kasun. "He has multiple contusions and abrasions, and he has clear signs of starvation."

Ziva translated back to the two Americans who nodded solemnly.

"I have inserted an… IV," Dr. Kasun continued in halting English. "It will help return your friend to… an acceptable level of nutrition and hydration."

"But…?" Ziva prompted in Arabic. Dr. Kasun nodded.

"But I am concerned about the damage to his cranium," he admitted in Arabic. Ziva repeated his words in english, and the two men nodded. "We do not have the equipment to monitor that, but I do not recommend moving him. I think it is best that he be allowed to recover here."

Again Ziva repeated the doctor's words in English. Both men nodded, and the older man stepped out of the tent, disappearing from sight.

"We don't have time to spare," the lieutenant said briskly. "We have already wasted more time than we should have. Do you have a satellite phone somewhere in the village that we could borrow?"

Ziva nodded and called a nurse over. She spoke to the woman, asking her to retrieve one of the SAT phones from the main tent. She nodded and set off, the lieutenant and two refugee men following her.

Ziva stepped out of the medical tent, intent on finding the older man. He'd been mostly silent since his arrival, but something about the man called out to her.

 _A kindred spirit, Tony would call it,_ she thought to herself, allowing herself that one small concession after the chaos of earlier.

Ziva surveyed the area outside the tent and found the older man sitting on the ground a few feet away. He was tucked in between two tents, out of sight to those not as observant as she.

"He is going to be okay," Ziva said, approaching the older man and plopping down beside him. He was still dressed in his blood-stained, native clothing, but Ziva made no move to force him to change. "Your friend, I mean," she clarified at his confused look.

"Oh," he said, scratching his jaw softly. "No, I've, uh… I don't know him. We just came across him on a… raid, and… well, I thought, uh," the man stumbled over his explanation.

Ziva just nodded.

"Ziva," she said, as a means of introduction. "I am an aid worker."

The older man looked surprised, but he recovered quickly.

"Ken," he stated back simply. "I'm a…" he trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to continue. Ziva waved her hand, signaling it was no big deal.

"I recognize off the books when I see it," Ziva said firmly, motioning to herself. "Ex-Mossad."

The man sighed.

"You're sharp," he said, neither confirming nor denying his covert status.

Ziva just nodded.

"It is called… _brown ops_ in your country, no?" she prompted. The man laughed, and Ziva decided that he looked much younger when he smiled.

"Black," he corrected wryly. "If such a thing existed, it would be called _black_ ops."

Ziva nodded, accepting the vague response as the confirmation that it was. The pair lapsed into silence for a long moment before the man spoke again.

"I should have left him there," he whispered, not looking at Ziva. As if he believed not looking at her would make his confession less real. "Normally, I _would_ have left him there. But there was just… something about this one. You know?"

Ziva nodded in understanding.

"When you reach your limit," she said slowly, her voice filled with barely restrained emotion, "it has a way of changing you."

The older man nodded. "That it does."

* * *

 _ **AN2: See? Seeeeee? SEEEEEE? I told you that I only write a specific kind of story!**_

 ** _Okay, well, thanks for reading, and please leave a review on your way out!_**

 ** _Blessings,_**

 ** _bookdiva_**


	3. Back In LA

_**AN: Well, it's Sunday**_ ** _again! So... here's chapter three! I hope the length of this chapter will make up for the fact that chapter four will be very short. And hopefully, at some point this week, inspiration hits me for chapter five... if you have ideas, I'm totally willing to hear them :) I have most of this mapped out, I just have to write it. This is a totally different thing for me, but it seems to be going well so far. (Knock on wood.)_**

 ** _Thank you all for your wonderful, kind reviews. One of you mentioned something about Serbia (you know who you are), and I'm super busy, so I haven't had the chance to PM you, but I do want to. I'm not so great with cultures, and I probably messed it up. Please PM me, if you have the time, and we can chat about how I could fix that!_**

 ** _Again, thank you all for the reviews! I hope you like this chapter, and if it's not too much trouble... leave another review!_**

 ** _Blessings,_**

 ** _bookdiva_**

* * *

A week had passed since Kensi had demanded that everyone leave her room, and she was finally about to be cleared to leave. She'd been physically able to leave since three days after being admitted, but as she'd refused to take her psych eval, Hetty had refused to allow her to go home.

Finally, Kensi caved and allowed Nate to enter. He did so with great caution.

"Hey Kens," he greeted her softly, slipping into the chair beside her bed. She was fully dressed and sitting on the edge of her bed—just like the old Kensi he knew—but other than that, she was unrecognizable. Her eyes were cold, her lips were pressed into a thin line, and he could see that she had already lost weight.

Nate had not witnessed Kensi's violent attack on Jack and the team, but he had heard about it from Hetty, Sam, Callen, and Nell. None of those accounts had prepared him for the sight of this new Kensi.

"Hi Kensi," Nate said again when Kensi didn't return his greeting. She just turned her cold gaze on him and tilted her head. She would have looked bored if she hadn't been so tense.

"Let's just get this over with," she said. It took all of Nate's training not to flinch.

"Okay," he nodded, rolling with her attitude. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, but he just raised his eyebrows and waited patiently for her to speak.

Eventually she sucked in a small breath and spoke.

"I was assigned to the White Ghost mission as a sniper. I was set up to take the shot. I recognized it was Jack. I didn't take the shot. I went off on my own, got myself captured, and my team rescued me," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Kensi," Nate said, refusing to accept her explanation. "You lost your partner. You don't just snap back fr—"

The words weren't even fully out of his mouth when Kensi struck. Her eyes flashed in an emotion resembling fury, and she lashed out. Before Nate knew what hit him, he was pinned to Kensi's bed, his arm twisted uncomfortably behind him.

"No," she hissed in his ear, her voice angry and harsh. She released him roughly and pushed away, turning around so she wasn't facing him. "No," she repeated, but her voice was softer.

She wasn't facing him, but Nate could sense the struggle she was undergoing to keep her emotions walled up and locked away.

The last time Nate had seen the partners together, they'd acted as if they could barely stand to work together. Of course, he'd helped everyone through the Siderov debacle, and he'd seen Deeks once while Kensi was in Afghanistan, but even then the detective's actions hadn't clued him in on their relationship the way Kensi's now turned back did.

"I am fine, Nate," she said, straightening her back but still not turning around. "No matter what anyone else tells you, I. Am. _Fine_. And now, if you'll excuse me," she continued, finally turning around, her eyes hard and cold once again, "I'm leaving."

With that, she turned and was out the door. The door had barely closed before it opened once more to reveal Hetty.

"I take it that did not go as well as expected?" she inquired.

Nate just shook his head.

"She lost another important man in her life," he reasoned, feeling defensive of Kensi. "I expected her to react badly, but this is worse than even I expected."

"Yes," Hetty agreed, nodding her head slowly, joining Nate in staring at the door Kensi had exited only moments before.

"I can't clear her for field work, Hetty," Nate said. "She's obviously blaming herself for Deeks's death, and that's likely to make her reckless in the field."

"Mmmm," Hetty hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

* * *

Kensi stood outside the door to her apartment, dreading walking inside. She hadn't been here since well before she left for that god-forsaken place, and now, looking at the entrance to a place that held so many memories, she just couldn't do it.

She turned around, walking away from _Kensi's_ home, _Kensi's_ memories, _Kensi's_ life. She eased her way down the steps and walked back out to the street, easily hailing a cab and giving the address of a nearby motel.

 _I'll just stay there while I look for something else,_ she reasoned, though she really couldn't find it in herself to care.

In her mind, she deserved this. This and so much more. She may not have detonated the bomb that killed her Deeks, but in her heart, she knew she'd killed him. He was there for _her_. For _her_ stupid decision. For _her_ demons.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Kensi pulled into the motel and checked herself in under an alias for an indefinite stay.

 _Indefinite._

Kinda like her life at the moment. Nothing concrete, no anchor, no reason for living.

 _Except vengeance,_ she reminded herself. That cheerful thought lead her to her second decision of the day.

She needed to get cleared by a psychologist before returning to work, and she knew she'd never get past Nate. She was good, but she wasn't that good. What she needed was someone she could fool—someone who would see Agent Blye and not know the difference between her and Kensi.

She knew just the place, and she took out her phone, dialing a once-familiar number.

"Healing Hope, this is Amy. How may I help you?" a perky voice answered. Kensi took a deep breath and moderated her voice.

"Amy?" she repeated. "My name is Kensi Blye. I volunteered at the clinic years ago, and—"

"I remember you!" she exclaimed. Kensi had volunteered at the clinic, which specialized in PTSD treatment, for years after Jack had left, hoping to run into him. "Kensi, it is so good to hear from you! What can I do for you?"

"Well, I need a psych evaluation in order to be cleared for work. We had a co-worker—" Kensi paused to keep from choking on the words that threatened to undo her careful control, "—die unexpectedly, and we all need to be cleared. I thought… well, I thought the clinic might be able to get me in. I mean, I know it's not your specialty, but—"

"No!" Amy interrupted. "Anything for a friend of the clinic! Let me see… how about tomorrow? If you can come in during lunch, Dr. Horatio should have a half hour to chat with you. Will that be sufficient?"

Kensi wished she could feel triumphant at so easily getting a solution to her problem, but she couldn't muster up the feeling.

"That's wonderful," she gushed. "Thank you so much."

"It's no trouble," Amy assured her. "We'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Kensi affirmed, quickly hanging up the phone and immediately powering it off. It would be harder for Nell or Eric to find her that way. In a fit of sudden, irrepressible emotion, she threw her phone against the wall, watching as it shattered into tiny pieces.

She pushed herself violently off the bed, slipped on sweat pants, a loose t-shirt, and her running shoes, knowing the only way she'd sleep tonight would be if she exhausted herself. Even then it wasn't 100% certain.

Three hours later, sweaty, gross, and in an extraordinary amount of pain, Kensi crashed down on her bed face first. Immediately, she drifted off into a restless, fitful sleep.

* * *

She startled awake at 4:48 a.m., six hours after she'd entered the nightmare that had trapped her in sleep. She gasped awake, snuggling her nose into the unfamiliar pillows, almost sobbing in relief.

"Oh, god," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I just had the worst—"

She lifted her head to find herself not in Deeks's bed but some random motel room. It all hit her at once—the pain, the anger, the guilt—and she raced to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before her stomach bile violently exited her body through her mouth.

Moving on autopilot, she stood, cleaned herself up, applied a liberal amount of makeup to her face—spending the amount of time she would for an undercover op—and readied her things. It was early, but Kensi knew she wouldn't be sleeping. There was no place to go for comfort, either. She'd refused to allow her mother to be contacted, she couldn't go to the beach, for obvious reasons, and Monty…

 _Monty!_ she realized. Enough of his Kensi was still present to make her worry over the mutt's safety, and she made a mental note to assure he was taken care of. She couldn't do it, for obvious reasons, but she owed it to her partner to make sure his dog was okay.

She owed him a hell of a lot more than that, but that was one tangible thing she could do for him. He'd always treated Monty like a furry little person, and—

She cut herself off there, refusing to allow her thoughts to go any further.

That decided, she drove around L.A. aimlessly for the next few hours. She killed a little time by stopping at a coffee shop she'd never been to before and ordering something she'd never heard of before. She knew she couldn't drink it, but it would look good at her appointment if she had something in her hands.

It would look normal. Healthy, even. Like she was handling everything exceptionally well.

She wasn't.

An hour after stopping for coffee, Kensi was sitting in Dr. Horatio's office. She explained her "cover" story, spoke about Marty fondly, and even shed a single, poignant tear without breaking down. She was Kensi Blye, Badass Extraordinaire. She was _not_ Kensi. She was _not_ Princess. She was _not_ Fern.

* * *

Less than twenty minutes after Dr. Horatio had signed her paperwork and declared her to be handling everything "exceptionally well", Kensi marched into the mission and deposited the paper work onto Hetty's desk without a word.

Before anyone could react, Monty—who was laying on the floor at Sam's feet—jumped up and ran to Kensi. She froze when she heard the dog bark, standing like a statue as Monty jumped around her. When she didn't pay him any attention, he huffed and looked behind her. He cocked his head to the side, obviously waiting on his master. Monty trotted towards the door, smart enough to know that where Kensi went, his daddy wasn't far behind.

Until today.

After a moment of staring at the closed, unmoving door, a whine escaped Monty, and he turned and walked back to Sam's desk, his head down. It was enough to snap Kensi out of her momentary stupor, and she once again locked her emotions away.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded. She shot the team—who were staring at her with pitying eyes—her patented glare, sat at her desk, and pulled out her laptop. "We have plenty of work to do," she continued without looking up.


	4. Afghanistan Again

_**AN: Okay, well this was going to be shorter, but then... well, the second part hit me at work, so I HAD to write it down. Therefore, not as short as I was telling you it would be. I hope that you enjoy it, and please leave a review! They really do make my day :) And also, I'm not done with chapter 5 yet, so maybe reviews will make me finish it. Otherwise... well, I might not update next Sunday. It just depends on if I get inspiration for chapter 5...**_

 _ **Hope you all are having a great weekend :)**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

Four days ago, the young lieutenant and the man who called himself Ken had left the refugee camp, and Ziva was still caring for their friend… or whoever the injured man was. She still tended to her duties in the camp—she carried fresh water, helped secure permitters, translated for many of the languages, and played with the little children—but she always ended her day at this man's side.

She would fall asleep talking to him. She told him things she would never have the courage to say if he were conscious.

There was something about talking to the man—the idea that her words were bringing him some comfort—that eased an ache in her heart.

It was there—and only there—that Ziva allowed herself to speak of Tony. It was the only time when memories of Tony and her time in D.C. were not filled with regret, longing, and pain. Instead, the memories, stories, and anecdotes were full of the joy that can only be found with family.

"He became my best friend," she admitted to the unconscious man, four days after he had been brought to their camp. "At first I could not stand him," she continued, allowing herself a slight snort. "But the trust… it came gradually. Like a sea turtle." She smiled as she imagined Tony automatically correcting her idiom, and she almost missed the man's hand twitching.

Ziva held her breath, but as usual, nothing followed his slight movement. She couldn't help but sigh.

"I really wish you would wake up," she said softly, reaching out to touch his weathered hand. "I know… I know the pain is terrible," she said, struggling to keep her own memories at bay. "It is the kind of thing that keeps you up at night. It eats away at your soul. It plays in your mind, over and over and over."

She sighed again.

"But I also know that something was important enough for you to pull through. You held on to something. Whatever that was…" she trailed off and took a moment to collect herself. "Whatever that was, hold on to that now. Let that bring you back."

She sighed and rested her head down against the edge of the bed.

"You know more about me than pretty much anyone," she said, letting out a soft, humorless laugh. "And I don't even know your name."

Ziva couldn't help but smile as she turned away from the sleeping man to look out of the tent and up into the dark, desert sky.

"John Doe," she decided, remembering her days in the NCIS morgue with Ducky and Palmer with a bittersweet pang. "That is what I will call you. Until you can tell me what your name is truly."

A soft moan from behind her caused Ziva to whip around, and suddenly she was once again staring into the deepest blue eyes she had ever encountered.

* * *

The air around Ken was still and silent, until a single, sharp vibration broke the stillness. It startled him out of his thoughts.

For some reason, he just could not get the young man with the startling blue eyes out of his mind. They reminded him of another set of unique eyes—

The number on his SAT phone was unfamiliar, which was even more unexpected than the call itself. Given his line of work, Ken skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point.

"How did you get this number?" he demanded, his tone firm and subtly threatening.

A brief memory of his ex-wife's running joke about his frankness—a trait he'd passed on to his daughter—flitted across his mind, but he pushed it away. Those thoughts did him no good.

"Many men have inquired after my methods," a familiar voice said. "Not many have discovered them."

Ken sighed.

"And those who have never lived to tell the tale," he finished this familiar greeting, dreading the possible news this woman could bring. "What's wrong Henrietta?"

"I am calling in a favor," came the terse answer.

Ken paused for a minute, suddenly realizing that Henrietta Lange sounded… almost… was it sad? Could she feel that emotion?

"It's not—" he began, the panic building up again.

"No," Hetty cut him off, and Ken let out a sigh of relief.

"Good." He paused again. "What do you need?"

"A body," she answered. As far as requests from Henrietta Lange went, it wasn't all that unusual.

"Do I want to know what for?" he joked, attempting to feel out her intentions.

"We lost an agent three weeks ago in Afghanistan," she continued, ignoring Ken's attempt at levity. "Well, not an agent," she clarified. "An LAPD detective."

Ken started.

"What the hell was an LAPD detective doing in Afghanistan?" Ken demanded, stunned that even Hetty could have sent someone without the training into a war zone.

"I assure you," Hetty said calmly, "he was a detective in title only. He had all the training and skill of my best agents. My elite team."

"Your A-team?" Ken said, feeling his heart drop to his toes at this implication. "He was—"

"Yes."

The answer was simple, but it said more than her words ever could.

"You want _me_ to find the body?" Ken clarified. The line was silent, and the only answer he received was the silent ping from a message. Coordinates.


	5. Back To Work

_**AN: Hey guys! Sunday again, and apparently chapter five made it! I'm posting from my iPad because my computer charger hit the dust... Soo... Hopefully I get a new one soon so I can get six written :)**_

 _ **I hope you're all well, and please leave me a review! I love to hear from you!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

For three weeks after Kensi was officially cleared for duty, things proceeded in the strange, limbo-like state that became normal. It was tense, but it suited Kensi's desires perfectly. She didn't want to change anything—least of all the team structure—so when she showed up to work, early as always, she headed straight to the gym.

The guys had tried to come in and get her to talk. Even Eric had started pretending to need to work out. Eventually, though, they'd all given up.

Well, all but Sam.

Kensi wasn't sure what it was, but Sam kept showing up. He never spoke, and he always kept to himself. But he was always there.

In the back of her mind, Kensi realized what was going on. Sam felt he owed Deeks after the whole Siderov thing—Kensi shuddered slightly at just that vile man's name—and he was now paying back that debt by taking care of Kensi. And the part of her that knew that also understood it, because she felt that same loyalty. However, that part of Kensi was buried under layer after layer of bitterness, anger, guilt, and a deep-seated hatred of herself.

So she continued to ignore the big man, and he continued to show up. She stayed late every night, and three weeks after her partner had died was no exception. She worked herself to exhaustion, passed out at her hotel, and drifted off into her now nightly routine of torturous dreams.

* * *

Tuesday morning started much the same. Kensi showed up, makeup covering the dark circles under her eyes, and dropped her things on her desk. Before she could head to the gym, however, something stopped her in her tracks.

Since their return, Deeks's desk and things had remained untouched. Everything had stayed exactly as he'd left it, as if he was simply on an extended undercover assignment, and they all expected him to arrive home at any moment. For three weeks, it had allowed Kensi to pretend like that was reality.

Today, however, two boxes had her absolutely frozen in her tracks. One box she was all too familiar with, and it sat in the middle of the bullpen, still unopened. The other box contained the personal contents of Deeks's desk.

Sam and Callen's banter as they approached snapped Kensi out of her trance-like state, and she cautiously took a step towards the boxes. Inside the open one, she saw a picture of Monty—the one where he was wearing Deeks's sunglasses—an assortment of his favorite pens, and a box of his 'emergency Twinkies' that she knew he kept only for her.

Kensi was once again brought back to the present when Sam and Callen's laughter came to an abrupt cease.

"What's this?" Sam demanded when he spotted Deeks's things in the center of the bullpen. Kensi opened her mouth to respond but found no words would come.

"Mr. Deeks's things," Hetty answered, appearing seemingly from nowhere. "It has come time to make this team complete again. That desk cannot sit empty forever."

The implication of the words washed over everyone—and no one was any too pleased with what they meant—and all eyes immediately turned to Kensi. The whole room, Hetty included, held their breath as they waited for Kensi's reaction.

"Who?" she asked, her voice quiet and steely.

"Detective Johnson," Hetty replied matter-of-factly.

"I've heard about him," Sam said, pensively. "Deeks hated that guy."

"Indeed," Hetty affirmed.

"Then why did you—"

"I'm afraid it wasn't up to me, Mr. Hanna," Hetty cut him off. "Now, please welcome your new par—"

"He can be the liaison," Kensi said, finally allowing some fire into her eyes as she dared Hetty to disagree with her. "But he will _never_ be my partner."

* * *

"—irresponsible, insane, out-of-control, RECKLESS!" Detective Johnson was shouting as he followed Kensi, Sam, and Callen into the bullpen after an interesting shoot out. Kensi just continued to ignore him. "You guys saw that, right?" he demanded, turning toward Sam and Callen.

Callen just grunted and turned away, but Sam shot the young man a glare that clearly said _shut up_. Unfortunately, Detective Johnson still hadn't learned how to take a hint.

"She's trying to kill me!" he ranted on. At this, Kensi turned to him, a cold smirk on her face. She took a threatening step towards her new partner and he swallowed loudly.

"Believe me," Kensi said, her voice monotonous and dangerous at the same time, "if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be breathing."

Detective Johnson actually whimpered, and Kensi turned away from him, unable to even enjoy the fear she'd instilled in the man. She could practically hear her partner teasing her about it, but she pushed it away with a barely noticeable shudder.

"No," Detective Johnson continued. "You're not trying to kill me. You're trying to kill yourself."

He said the words with such certainty, they gave Kensi a pause.

"I can see why Deeks didn't like you," Sam said, finally entering the conversation. It was dangerous, but he couldn't just sit there and watch Johnson belittle Kensi. He was only making matters worse.

Kensi flinched at her partner's name, and Detective Johnson laughed.

"You can't seriously be hung up over that idiot," he scoffed. Kensi's eyes flashed, and before Sam could react, Hetty could interfere, or Detective Johnson could utter another word, Kensi struck.

In seconds, the liaison was lying on his back on the ground, clutching his right arm to his body. Kensi spun on her heel, forcing herself to leave before she killed the man.

Sam grabbed Johnson by his left shoulder, ignoring his protests as he hauled the detective out of the bullpen.

Sam released the man and simply nodded to the door, his posture daring the smaller, less experienced man to protest.

"That's fine," Johnson exclaimed, tossing his hands into the air. "I'm not getting myself killed because you're all hung up on Deeks. I'm out."

Kensi wasn't there to enjoy his departure, but neither Sam nor Callen were at all sad.

* * *

Hetty watched the scene unfold in the bullpen, shaking her head as it finally ended with the loss of yet another LAPD liaison, albeit much less tragically.

"Oh, Mr. Deeks," she muttered to herself. "What a mess we find ourselves in."

She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the one man she knew could help her find closure for her team.

"How did you get this number?" his familiar voice demanded. Hetty let out a small smile.

"Many men have inquired after my methods," she initiated the familiar greeting. "Not many have discovered them."

"And those who have never lived to tell the tale," came his expected response. "What's wrong Henrietta?"

"I am calling in a favor," she said, hiding a sigh behind a deep breath.

"It's not—"

"No," Hetty reassured him, understanding his concern.

"Good," he responded, relief evident in his tone. Hetty thought to herself that if he knew the state of things, that relief would not be present. "What do you need?" he asked after a long pause.

"A body," Hetty answered, knowing that this request would not be strange coming from her.

"Do I want to know what for?" he joked.

"We lost an agent three weeks ago in Afghanistan," she explained. "Well, not an agent," she corrected herself. "An LAPD Detective."

"What the hell was an LAPD Detective doing in Afghanistan?" Ken was understandably enraged. He would be even more angry if he ever learned of the real reason behind it. Hetty was hopeful he would never need to know.

"I assure you," Hetty assured him, keeping her tone calm despite the emotions raging within her, "he was a detective in title only. He had all the training and skill of my best agents." She paused, wondering how much to give away. "My elite team."

"Your A-Team?" Ken repeated, his tone colored with anxiety. "He was—"

"Yes," Hetty affirmed sadly.

"And you want me to find the body?" Ken clarified. Hetty simply sent the coordinates of the blast to Ken's phone. She heard them go through and waited.

"Hetty?" he called. She sighed.

"Closure," she said, allowing her voice to crack slightly. "We all need closure. It was a bad blast, but if you can find any part… anything to bring home…"

Ken sighed.

"I'll do my best," he promised. Hetty nodded.

"That's all I can ask."


	6. Awake in Afghanistan

_**AN: Hello friends! So... it's Sunday again, and you get to hear from me again! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter! Your response from the last chapter blew my mind so much that I managed to write this chapter in the limited (less than 12 hours) that I had to get sleep and crank this out! That said... this has not been edited or pre-read by my buddy Ohbuddy66, so keep that in mind. None of this is his fault, all mistakes are mine.**_

 _ **That said, I hope for a similar response to this chapter! It's one of my favorites, because... well, you'll see! We finally get to hear from my favorite character! Even if he is a bit... confused... Lol, you'll have to read to see what I mean!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

The first thing he heard was a sweet voice talking to him. He couldn't really understand any of the words, but they were comforting to his heart. They touched something deep inside of him—some demon that he couldn't name—and it eased the pain slightly.

He didn't recognize anything. He couldn't put a name to the voice. In fact, he suddenly realized, he couldn't find a name for himself. He knew enough to know that he should have one, but it just wouldn't come to him.

He lay still for a moment, just processing all that he didn't know, before he tried to move. All he managed to accomplish was a small twitch of his hand. He wanted to sigh, but even that seemed like too much effort. He hurt all over, though he couldn't remember why that would be. Something about the pain felt familiar, and he embraced it. In his mind, nothing was known to him. The pain, though almost unbearable, was almost comforting.

When he first opened his eyes, everything was blurry. He tried to speak but his voice wouldn't work.

"W-w-w—" he tried, but nothing would really come out. Thankfully, the woman beside him immediately seemed to understand, and she fetched a glass of water from beside his bed. She held the glass to his lips as he carefully sipped. The water had the desired effect, clearing his mind and easing the burning in his throat.

He struggled to push himself into a sitting position, but the pain was too great. He let out a hiss and squeezed his eyes shut to ride the pain out.

"Here, let me help you," his companion's soft voice soothed. She helped him into a sitting position, arranging him so he'd be comfortable. He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, allowing the pain to abate, before he finally opened his eyes.

She was gone, but she returned only seconds later with a large man with dark hair. His presence sent a thrill of fear down his spine, but the woman quickly reassured him.

"This is Dr. Kasun," she said, her words careful. He forced himself to relax. A doctor would help him, not hurt him. Right?

The man spoke, but he couldn't understand a word of it.

"Do you speak Arabic?" she questioned softly. He knew enough to shake his head, gasping at the wave of pain the motion caused. He pushed it away and tried to focus. If what the doctor had spoken was Arabic, he didn't know it.

"Farci?" she probed. Again he shook his head, though much more carefully. That didn't sound familiar either.

"So only English then?" she affirmed. He just shrugged, honestly not knowing the answer.

The doctor continued speaking in the language that he couldn't understand before smiling and leaving.

"Dr. Kasun says it is good that you are finally awake," the woman explained. "Can you speak?"

"Who—who are you?" he croaked hesitantly. He didn't get the sense that he'd known her, but he also didn't know who he was, so he wasn't fully trusting of his gut. He was sure, however, after all her care and help, that she meant him no harm.

She smiled at him, thankfully not offended by his rather blunt question.

"I am Ziva," she said, her voice shifting to reveal a slight accent. "I work here at the aid station."

He nodded, processing this information. "And… where is here?" he rasped, his voice still hoarse from disuse.

Ziva tilted her head to the side, but she answered nonetheless.

"Afghanistan," she answered matter-of-factly. He furrowed his brow, unable to place this Afghanistan.

He nodded in acknowledgement and then asked the question that he most wanted an answer to.

"Who am I?"

Ziva's smile faded.

"I was hoping you could tell me," she said. He tried not to let his disappointment show, so he just shrugged. He winced and made a mental note to never do that again.

"I—I don't know," he said haltingly. His brow furrowed painfully. "I—can't remember."

"Anything?" Ziva questioned.

He shook his head, wincing again. "Nothing."

A heavy silence fell between them, and he tried desperately to think of something to say. He didn't understand it, but it seemed deeply ingrained in his being to make the moment lighter.

"I guess this makes me a John Doe," he said with a sigh, trying to smile. Ziva looked up suddenly at the same time he was wondering what exactly he meant by that. How is it that he could know how to make a joke and why it was funny, and yet he didn't know his own name?

"That is… what I have been calling you," she explained. "John Doe."

"John?" he scrunched up his nose and shook his head. It sounded too stiff and formal to him. "I'm not sure about that." He hesitated at the disappointed look that his companion tried hard to hide, and he sighed. "What about Johnny?"

It sounded somewhat better than John, though he couldn't fathom his particular dislike for that name. Perhaps somewhere, in the fog that was his life before waking up here, he'd disliked someone by that name. A foggy image of a large man came in a flash, but it was gone just as quickly.

Ziva smiled, a full, real smile this time. "Johnny," she repeated, as if trying it out, her voice interrupting his thoughts. It didn't sound familiar, but it somehow felt right.

 _For now,_ he reminded himself.

"Johnny Doe it is," she stated firmly. He smiled and stretched out his hand. His body ached in pain, but he pushed through it, desiring only to keep them both smiling.

"Hi," he said, lightly grasping her hand. "I'm John Doe, but you can call me Johnny. All my friends do."

Ziva laughed at him, an amazed sparkle in her eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, Johnny," she said, her eyes showing her amusement. "I am glad that you have not lost your sense of humor given…"

She trailed off suddenly, and Johnny realized that whatever had happened to him, it hadn't been good.

"Do you know…" he paused, hesitant to ask because he didn't really know if he wanted his question answered. He took a deep breath and pushed forward. "Do you know what happened to me?"

Ziva shook her head, her eyes respectfully solemn.

"You were brought to the camp by two American men," she said slowly. "You were—" she tripped over the words, "—badly injured. I am not _sure_ how."

He heard what she didn't say.

"You have your theories," he surmised. She sighed.

"If it was me…" she paused. " _When_ it was me," she corrected, "I would have wanted to know."

Johnny just cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You had severe head trauma, slight burns as if you were in an explosion, your leg was broken—and has a healing bullet hole—you have multiple superficial cuts and abrasions and a few that were deep enough to require stitches, and you lost a lot of blood."

Johnny sat in silence, somewhat grateful that he couldn't remember that brutality. It touched a memory deep inside of him that he couldn't quite recall but also couldn't quite shake.

"Torture?" he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. He looked up into Ziva's eyes and saw a kindred spirit there—someone who had gone through a similar experience.

She simply nodded.

He sighed. It was a lot to process all at once.

"Well," he said slowly, "then maybe not remembering isn't such a bad thing."

He was in enough pain to know that it would be a struggle enough to get over his physical recovery. Once he accomplished that, he could focus on his mental recovery.

Ziva sighed, and her eyes got a far-off look to them.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Perhaps for now it is best."


	7. CIA in LA

_**AN: I'm so sorry that this took so long. Honestly, first it was the 4th of July, then I just had an honest case of writer's block, then I was home without a computer… so basically, life conspired against me to keep this chapter out. Although, to be completely honest, this chapter has been coming to me in very short, sporadic spurts. (Haha, say that five times fast!) I'm hoping that its length will in part make up for that :)**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I really do love reading them, and I love to hear from all of you! I'm hoping to update again next Sunday, but as you can see… reviews help me be able to do that :)**_

 _ **So, without further ado, here's chapter 7!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

Six more LAPD liaisons came and went—none of them lasting more than a week and all of them storming out of the mission much the same fashion as Detective Johnson—before Lieutenant Bates gave up sending them to the team. Their new liaison, Detective Rodgers, worked from police headquarters and interacted with the OSP NCIS team—particularly Kensi—as little as possible.

As for the team, they continued working cases. It had been seven weeks since they'd all come back to work, and things were slowly moving forward.

Deeks's desk still sat empty. There was no longer any banter in the bull pen in the mornings or on paperwork days. There were no more experimental lunches. No one snuck Oreos into OPS for Nell and Eric. No one left sand in the showers of the men's locker room. There were no more morning smoothies or strange, foul-smelling fruits.

The team simply showed up, worked their cases, and went home. The close, almost familial bond that had held them together for so many years was all but gone, along with half of their team—Deeks to death and Kensi to guilt and grief. Not that either Sam or Callen were unaffected. Or Nell, Eric, and Hetty, for that matter.

This new, strange team was the one that CIA Agent Sabatino encountered about two months after the disastrous events of Afghanistan. He'd been reassigned away from Afghanistan about three weeks before the Kensi had been captured, so he was completely unaware of the hornet's nest he was entering when he waltzed into the boat shed to debrief with the OSP NCIS team.

"Well, well, well," he said as he threw open the door and sauntered into the slightly familiar—albeit unusual—safe house. "Looks like we've got ourselves another loose nuke."

Sabatino paused when only three sets of eyes stared back at him and furrowed his brow.

Agent Callen was standing off in the corner, his expression even colder than Sabatino had remembered. Agent Hanna was standing behind the team's seated junior agent, his posture even more tense and ridged than before. But it was Kensi Blye, her dark eyes cold and missing even a trace of the laughter and confidence he remembered, that threw him the most. Even when she'd been in Afghanistan—clearly depressed and homesick—she'd still managed to smile, joke, and be completely confident in her actions.

"Am I… missing something here?" he asked, glancing around for the fourth member of the team. When there was no verbal answer from any of them, he couldn't help but smile uncomfortably.

"Where's the other half of your English comedy show?" Sabatino asked, turning towards Kensi. "Did he take it on the road without you?"

Her dark eyes flashed in anger at him, and Sabatino took a large step back. He knew Kensi was dangerous—all the women he met in this line of work were—but in this moment, she almost looked deranged.

Almost as soon as it had appeared, however, the anger cleared from her eyes and they became emotionless again.

Hard.

Cold.

Terrifying.

"Deeks is dead," she said, her tone making it clear that she'd answer no other questions.

Sabatino was shocked, but even then he didn't miss the way she faltered slightly—almost imperceptibly—over her partner's name.

A startled "What?!" slipped past his lips.

Though he hadn't been overly _fond_ of the detective, he had definitely admired his operating skills. And, as surprising as it was given his line of work, it was always shocking to learn of the death of someone he'd worked closely with.

"How—"

"Like you said, Agent Sabatino," Agent Hanna cut in, his glare making it clear that his line of questioning would get them nowhere. "We've got another missing nuke."

Sabatino closed his mouth, wisely deciding to ask his questions when Kensi was far away. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, again observing the team before him. The changes he'd noted when he'd first entered suddenly made complete sense. The goofy, shaggy, irreverent detective had obviously been the glue of the team, though he doubted any of them had realized it until the man was irreversibly gone and their team frayed apart.

He shook his head, effectively shelving his thoughts for later, and focused his attention on the task at hand.

"What has the CIA been able to pull together on this?" Agent Callen asked, abruptly taking the conversation to the business at hand. Sabatino was grateful for Callen's ungraceful maneuvering, because he honestly hadn't really known how to go about changing the subject.

"When Isaac Siderov—" he heard a sharp inhalation of breath at the name, but he pushed on, "—was killed, all but one of the nuclear weapons were recovered. I was recalled from Afghanistan because some chatter had surfaced regarding the missing nuke."

He paused to take in the team. Agent Callen nodded, clearly taking in the information, and though Agent Hanna's jaw was visibly tense, he also managed a curt nod. Sabatino then allowed his eyes to shift to Kensi, though he was unsurprised by what he saw there.

She was staring past his shoulder at some unimportant spot on the wall, and her eyes were completely glazed over. He hadn't been there when everything went down, but he'd read the after action reports. It hadn't gone well for Detective Deeks or Agent Hanna. He also vaguely recalled something in the report about their teammates leaving the men to their captors, but he couldn't remember specifics.

By the look on her face, Kensi could.

* * *

It had been exactly four weeks, twelve hours, and roughly eighteen minutes since she'd last said her partner's name. Not that she was obsessively keeping track or anything.

Because she wasn't. She was _fine_.

Thankfully, she—or possibly Sam (most likely Sam)—had frightened Sabatino enough that he kept his mouth shut.

"What has the CIA been able to pull together on this?" Callen asked, unsubtly changing the topic of conversation. Kensi hardened her jaw and straightened her back, prepared to face this case as she would any other: with a white-hot thirst for revenge.

Maybe it was deranged—okay, she knew it was—but she saw every bad guy, all the evil men and women, as accomplices to Deeks's death. Taliban, terrorist, drug dealer, murder, human trafficker, abuser. All of them. And each one suffered her wrath as if they had personally detonated the bomb that had—

"When Isaac Siderov—" Sabatino's voice cut into Kensi's head, startling her from her thoughts. She couldn't contain her slight gasp. That name…

A flash of memories played before her eyes, almost choking her with their tight mental grip.

She saw his eyes and the set of his shoulders as he strode toward her where she sat astride her motorcycle. She heard herself call him a fourteen-year-old, only to be cut off by the indescribable feeling of his lips on hers. She felt the heat of the engine underneath her as she road away from him like the coward she was. She felt her heart freeze when she heard the news over the coms.

" _We lost them."_

She felt that desperation again. She felt the heavy knowledge that although the threat to the Russian woman was supposed to be nothing but a ruse, Kensi would not hesitate to deliver on every threat she uttered, if only it would save her partner. She felt the delusional elation when they finally got the location, sure that all she'd have to do would be to show up, rescue her very own 'Goldilocks in Distress,' and everything would be fine. She heard herself agree to Granger's orders instead.

And finally, she felt her herself struggle to steady her hands as she picked the lock. She could smell the faint scent of blood and stench on the breeze, but it almost overwhelmed her when the door finally opened. She could feel her legs, barely holding her upright, freeze when she first saw him.

And worst of all, she saw _him_.

She saw him, strapped down to a chair, head lolling to the side, blood dripping from his mouth and covering almost everywhere. She felt the way her heart dropped to her toes as the knowledge that he was dead weighed it down so heavily she couldn't stand it.

She felt his name ripped from her throat, along with a cry of disbelief. She felt his skin—too cold—beneath her touch. She felt her heart leap back into her throat when his eyes snapped open and she realized he was _alive_ , only to feel it slam back down at the realization that he thought she was there to _rescue_ him.

She felt the guilt at the fact that she _wasn't_. And even worse, she saw him come to that realization. The honest surprise, betrayal, and most painful, the acceptance. Like he shouldn't have expected her to save him in the first place.

She heard him clear his throat. No, he hadn't done that. Kensi blinked, suddenly back in the boat shed again, with three sets of eyes staring at her.

"Are you okay, Agent Blye?" Agent Sabatino asked hesitantly. Kensi just blinked at him, not even bothering to answer the stupid question.

No, she was not alright. She probably never would be again.

* * *

Being the odd man out, Sabatino got paired up with the only other partnerless agent. Kensi.

"So," Sabatino started, breaking the tense silence that had filled the SRX since he and Kensi had started this stakeout three agonizing hours ago. "How long ago did—"

"No."

It was only one word, but her meaning was clear. She wasn't going to talk about her partner, so Sabatino wisely changed his question, unwilling to return to the silence.

"—you decide to go into law enforcement?"

Kensi shot him a disbelieving look that tapered into a cold glare. She huffed in disbelief and turned back to the door they'd been watching without a word.

"Wow," he said, finally fed up with the tense atmosphere. "Last time I was here, I couldn't get you to shut up. Now, as much as I'm shocked to be saying this, I'm wishing Deeks was here so it wasn't so damn silent in this car."

Kensi's eyes flashed at him again, but he refused to be intimidated by her again. Yes, she could probably snap him in half, but the last three hours had literally been the worst torture he'd ever endured. And that was saying something. He absolutely just could not take another second of it.

" _ **Shut up, Sabatino,"**_ Agent Hanna's voice echoed through his coms unit. Kensi didn't react, so he assumed she wasn't wearing hers. _**"You don't know what happened. Don't provoke—"**_

His words were cut off as Kensi bolted out of the car and Sabatino rushed to follow her. Even moving as quickly as he could, he was what felt like lightyears behind her.

She rushed to where their suspect was exiting the building, yelling out some version of "Stop! NCIS!" in an almost nonsensical manner.

The man turned around, raised his gun he'd pulled from his back, and fired. His first shot went only slightly wide, and Sabatino immediately dove for cover, like any other sane human being would. Kensi, however, just continued to run towards the man. Sabatino ducked out to see if he could get a shot off when he saw the man aim and shoot again. This time, the shot grazed Kensi's shoulder, causing her to slow slightly. Other than a slight stumble, she didn't react to it. She pushed on. The man's eyes widened in fear, and it would have been almost comical under different circumstances.

Kensi's gun still wasn't raised, but with their suspect's attention entirely on the crazy woman rushing towards him, Sabatino rose and fired off a round that hit the man in the thigh. He dropped to one knee about ten feet from Kensi who didn't seem to register this. She blazed past the final distance and knocked his other leg out from under him.

She grabbed the man roughly by his long hair and hauled him up into a standing position. The man howled in pain, but Kensi didn't seem to care. She pulled his arms behind his back, produced a zip tie from seemingly nowhere, and cuffed the man's hands together so tight even Sabatino winced.

By the time he reached them, Kensi was pushing the man towards Sabatino and the man was hollering about police brutality.

"You think this is brutal?" Kensi's dangerously quiet voice shut the man up before she spun on her heel and stalked off toward the SRX. He hobbled backwards into Sabatino, clearly deciding the much bigger man was a safer bet than the crazy woman in front of him.

Sabatino grabbed him, sparing a glance over his shoulder to where Kensi was somehow already sliding into the driver's seat of her car. He was beyond shocked by her behavior, but he knew better than to bring it up in front of a suspect.

He'd let it drop. _For now_.

"C'mon," he muttered, pulling the suspect more gently than he normally would. "Let's go."

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded as he barged into the boat shed, effectively cutting off Sabatino's fragmented mumblings as he tried to understand what the hell had been going through Kensi's mind.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, grateful that someone was there to back him up. Kensi had just been sitting calmly in her chair, not flinching as a pixy-like redhead stitched up her arm, completely ignoring him. He was beyond shocked when Sam roughly grabbed his arm and dragged him outside, leaving Kensi sitting as if she'd seen none of it.

"What the hell?" Sabatino demanded once they were outside. "What did I do wrong?"

"I warned you not to bring him up!" Sam said, his voice lower now, but even more intimidating.

Sabatino shook his head and refused to be intimidated by Sam. He could hold his own if it came to that, but he really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Okay, what the hell happened?" Sabatino asked, finally giving it up. "I'm guessing Deeks is really dead, or none of you would be acting like this. So what the _hell_ happened?"

Sam sighed and took a step back.

"Kensi was captured in Afghanistan," Sam began. This surprised Sabatino, but he didn't let it show. Being in the CIA did have some perks, after all. "It turns out the White Ghost mission was actually a ploy to assassinate an innocent man. That innocent man turned out to be her ex-fiancee."

At that, Sabatino couldn't help the surprise that showed in his voice.

"What?"

"She recognized him immediately and got herself captured to figure out what was going on," Sam continued as if he hadn't heard him. "When we got word that she was missing, we all flew over to rescue her, and…"

Sabatino could suddenly put the rest of the story together.

"He was killed on the mission to rescue her?" he said softly, feeling the weight of the words keenly. He knew what it was like to lose a partner, but he couldn't imagine the guilt Kensi was living with. It was the kind of soul-crushing weight that could turn a person into the Kensi he'd worked with earlier that day.

"He found the info on where she was," Sam defended the deceased detective. Sabatino had no doubts. As annoying as Deeks could be, Sabatino had been impressed by his skills. When he took into account that he had no training beyond that of an LAPD Detective, he was absolutely blown away. "The location had two buildings. We split into two groups to search them both more efficiently." Sam was telling the story in fragments, but Sabatino understood. "The building he and Granger were searching was rigged to explode. He… didn't make it clear in time."

Sabatino nodded.

"Kensi was in the other one?" he asked quietly. Sam just nodded.

Sabatino stood in silence for a long moment. He'd known from the moment that he'd met Kensi and Deeks that they had a thing. Honestly, he was surprised it was as unresolved as it had been.

"How the hell is she in the field right now?!" he demanded suddenly. His outburst slightly startled himself, but Sam just sighed sadly.

"She went behind Hetty's back—" Sabatino raised his eyebrows at that, and Sam just shook his head in agreement, "—and got a psych eval. She somehow managed to get clearance."

"Still…" Sabatino argued, allowing his voice to trail off as he felt his point was pretty obvious.

"You think we should keep her out of the field," Sam stated, not even bothering to pose it as a question. "She'd just go rouge." He shook his head. "No. It's better that I'm—" he stumbled over his words slightly, "—we're there to watch out for her."

Sabatino nodded, understanding his reasoning. Still, an uneasy feeling lingered in his heart.

"How long will that last?" he wondered, not really expecting an answer. From the look on Sam's face, he guessed the big man didn't have one.


	8. Awake in Afghanistan 2

_**AN: Hey friends! I'm so hoping that you're still here. The fall semester was so rough for me, and I could barely make time to read. That, coupled with losing everything from my computer... well, safe to say I've been set back.**_

 _ **For those of you who are sticking with me, well, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

 _ **So, without further ado, here's where we left off with Deeks in Afghanistan…**_

* * *

" _Well," he said slowly, "then maybe not remembering isn't such a bad thing."_

 _He was in enough pain to know that it would be a struggle enough to get over his physical recovery. Once he accomplished that, he could focus on his mental recovery._

 _Ziva sighed, and her eyes got a far-off look to them._

" _Yes," she said hesitantly. "Perhaps for now it is best."_

* * *

Johnny sighed. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to know what had happened to him as he knew he had more important things to focus on. Intuitively, he knew that opening this particular can of worms would be the opposite of helpful.

"It's… not that I don't want to know," he said slowly. "But I think I have enough on my plate at the moment."

For a long moment, Ziva just stared at him, and he internally fidgeted. Then, a smile crept across her face.

"You are most definitely American," she said, her voice soft with laughter. Johnny cocked his head to the side in confusion, wincing at the sharp pain that hid his head at the movement. "Your idiots," she explained.

"Idioms," Johnny corrected automatically.

"Yes," Ziva said with a wistful smile. "Definitely American."

"Great," Johnny said wearily. "I guess that narrows it down to one of about, what? 300 million people?" He sighed, feeling all of this sudden activity start to catch up with him. The exhaustion compounded his frustration. "That's… great."

Ziva shook her head and smiled sadly. "It is better than one of seven billion, no?"

Johnny forced a smile, feeling his eyelids drooping.

"Yeah, he said as everything grew kind of fuzzy.

"Sleep now, Ziva whispered, her fingers stroking his arm softly and lulling him back to sleep.

* * *

The next time his eyes opened, Johnny again sensed he wasn't alone. This time, however, he didn't feel threatened. The presence was tentative as best.

Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a small figure standing near the entrance to his tent.

"Hi," he called softly to the figure. Slowly the figure stepped closer, revealing a small young girl. "Wha—" he cleared his throat gently, his voice still sore and hoarse. "What's your name?"

She just blinked at him, and he sighed.

"Do you speak English?" he asked her. She nodded her head. Johnny smiled. "Look at that! We have something in common!"

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she didn't smile. Johnny recognized it for what it was: progress.

"I'm Johnny," he said, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "What's your name?"

For a long moment, the girl just stared at him. Just when Johnny was about to speak again, she tilted her head to the side.

"You don't look like a Johnny," she said matter-of-factly in perfect English. Johnny couldn't help but laugh, though it quickly turned into a gasp of pain.

Her eyes, which had softened at his laughter, became guarded as Johnny struggled through the pain.

"I'm sorry," he said once he'd gathered himself again. "I forget my limitations sometimes."

The girl just nodded, but she didn't speak again. Johnny sighed.

"I don't look like a Johnny, huh?" he asked after a long moment. The girl shook her head. "Well, that's probably because that's most likely not my name."

"It's not?" she asked, clearly surprised. Johnny shrugged carefully. "Don't you… like your real name?" she asked hesitantly.

Johnny laughed at that, quickly holding his breath at the wave of pain that overtook him. With the pain, however, came a blurry memory.

 _He was staring into a short glass filled with an amber liquid he couldn't identify. His eyes shifted to a file folder. His picture was pinned to the top left corner, but the information surrounding it was completely blurred._ _How he knew his own image was a question for another time. Instead, his focus was entirely on the blurred information._

A sharp pain in his head tore him from the vision.

"Johnny?" a small voice called. He couldn't hold on, and the vague memory vanished as quickly as it had attacked his mind.

He tried to reassure her, but he couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat and the sharp, lingering pain in his mind. Somehow, his new friend seemed to sense his unrest.

"My name is Sara," she said softly.

Johnny smiled. Somehow, looking at the innocent smile of one so young, he knew everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Time had little to no meaning in the refugee camp, but Johnny knew that almost two months had passed. They had been hard days, filled with pain, but when he'd hit his lowest point, Ziva had been there to pull him out. And Sara—the once silent little girl—had been there to make him smile again.

Since the surprising discovery that the withdrawn little girl—with her dark eyes and native looks—spoke English, Ziva had made some progress, but Sara still blatantly preferred Johnny. As he recovered, the two of them formed a bond.

Sara was still quiet and reserved, but mornings after dark, terrifying, painful dreams Johnny couldn't remember upon waking, she would regal him with tales of the other children and their adventures together.

Ziva was with him in the nights. Her cot was right next to his, and when he'd wake with silent screams, she'd be there at his side in a way that only someone who'd lived through the same could be.

" _I've been through this before,"_ he'd said one night after a particularly rough dream.

Siva had simply nodded, tough Johnny had known there was no way she could know either way.

All he knew was that the country he was in, the language that was spoken, and all of the people he was meeting were unfamiliar. But the pain and the night terrors were almost comfortingly familiar. Perhaps that was why they lingered as long as they did. Maybe he was clinging onto the one thing that seemed to belong in his world.

The morning after his first peaceful sleep, roughly two months after he'd arrived at the camp, Johnny was wandering around the camp with Sara. Both of them were enjoying his newfound mobility.

"You look like my daddy," Sara said, completely out of the blue. Her statement itself wasn't surprising—she'd taken to a similar method of seemingly out-of-the-blue statements to reveal snippets of her past. It wasn't even the content. He'd deduced she was the daughter of an American man and a native woman.

No, it was the sudden surety within him that there was someone back home—wherever home was for him—waiting for him.

Was he a father? A husband? A brother? A son?

 _C'mon,_ he chided himself as he tried and failed to bring any memory to his mind. _You're a detective! DETECT!_

His brain froze.

Detective.

"Sara," Johnny said slowly, "I need to go talk to Ziva. Can you go play with the other children?"

She looked at him curiously, but nodded. Without a word, she turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Johnny watched until she reached a group of children playing thirty yards away. When she reached the group, she turned back and nodded to him. Seeing that she was okay, Johnny slowly made his way to the other side of the camp.

"Johnny!" Ziva called when she saw him coming. Her smile faded as she read the expression on Johnny's face, and she lowered her voice as she excused herself from the women she was talking to and headed his direction.

"Johnny," Ziva said, slightly warily as she approached him. "What's wrong?"

"Can we… talk?" Johnny asked, nodding his head to the large, empty tent that served as a mess hall for the camp. Thankfully, Ziva simply nodded.

Once they were seated at a table in the middle to the large space, the words started spilling out of his mouth.

"I'm a Detective," he said. "Or, I was."

Ziva couldn't hide her surprise.

"You… remembered?" she asked hesitantly.

"No… I mean, not really remembered. Just…" Johnny sighed and raked a hand through his long blond hair. "Sara mentioned something about me looking like her dad," he began, pleading with his eyes for Ziva to understand. She nodded for him to continue. "And I just… well, it just hit me. I know I've been against trying to figure out who I was—who I _am_ —but Sara… she made me realize something I should've known from the beginning."

He paused, knowing that once he said it there was no going back.

"What is it?" Ziva prompted.

"There's someone I need to get back to," he said. For once, when talking about his past, there was no question in his voice. "I was trying to remember who is—what I am to that person…those people—when I just thought to myself _you're a detective. Detect._ " He sighed again. "There's someone important I need to find."

"Fern."

The word was barely a whisper, but Johnny felt it all the way to his toes. Ziva looked up and met his questioning eyes.

"When you first got here, you were unconscious, but you snapped out of it for a brief moment," she said softly. "You called out Fern. At the time, I wasn't sure what it meant: was it a person? A code word?" She shook her head. "And at the time, we were more concerned with keeping you alive. And afterwards, well, I forgot until just now." Her eyes narrowed apologetically. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay," Johnny said softly. "I haven't been able to think about anything from my past. Until now."


	9. LA Again

_**AN: I'm sorry this is a week late, but I've been wrestling with the ending. So, if it seems a little abrupt, well, that's because it probably is. But I didn't know where to go with it, so this is what you're getting :)**_

 _ **As always, I'd love to read your thoughts on this chapter, and any ideas you have about where this story should go. Thank you to those who gave me the idea about the fingerprints. That will actually come up in the story, thanks to you guys!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

After getting patched up by Nell, Kensi was in no mood to have company. Nell kept up some not-so-subtle attempts at hanging out, but Kensi put her off. Right then, she just didn't have the energy to pretend to be okay.

Two hours after Sabatino left, Kensi managed to sneak out of the boatshed. She drove blindly, with absolutely no clue where she was headed until she pulled into what used to be _her_ spot in the parking garage of _his_ apartment. Walking on legs she couldn't really feel, Kensi stated climbing the stairs. It was slow progress, but she eventually made it to the top floor.

She had to pause on the top step as she was bombarded by memories of her partner's stupid quirks.

" _Why the hell do you have to live on the top floor?" Kensi panted as she helped Deeks haul some ridiculously heavy couch up the stairs to his new place. He gave a winded chuckle in response._

" _The view, Princess," he said, slight huffing and puffing obvious in his voice. "It's the only way I can afford to see the ocean on my poor-as-a-church-mouse budget."_

She'd laughed it off and called him an idiot at the time, but now, she'd give anything to feel the burn in her legs, arms, and lungs. She'd do anything to hear his stupid, idiotic reasoning behind anything because it would mean that he was still there, his heart beating.

But he wasn't.

She was at his door now, and she still wasn't sure why. The last time she'd crossed this particular threshold had been the most spectacular night of her life. Maybe she was just trying to torture herself—after all, she knew she deserved it… and worse.

Kensi choked back a sob and turned to leave when muffled rustling sound on the other side of the door caused her to stop in her tracks. Monty was with Sam, and there was no way Sam would just abandon Monty back to an empty apartment. And, as far as she knew, no one had put Deeks's place up for sale yet.

Pulling the gun from the waistband of her pants, Kensi tried the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. She felt a wave of irrepressible emotion as she wondered if the uncharacteristically open door was left that way by her partner in his panic over her status in Afghanistan. She pushed those thoughts away, instead focusing on clearing each corner.

The living area was clear, all of the pictures on the walls, the stupid pink cat pillow on the couch… everything was exactly the way she could imagine he'd left it. When he'd left to find her.

The sound of glass shattering from the kitchen and a broken sob reverberated across the apartment. Kensi drew her gun again, silently creeping around the corner. The sight before her caused her to lower her weapon.

"Who are you?" Kensi demanded, holding her gun to her side.

The blonde woman, kneeling on the floor beside a broken glass with tears streaming down her face, looked up. Her eyes bounced from Kensi's face to the gun held tightly by her side.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kensi demanded when the woman offered no response to the first question.

At that statement, the woman's blue eyes flashed in anger.

"What am _I_ doing here?" the woman repeated the question, pushing herself to her feet. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman's movement caused Kensi to again grasp her gun in both hands and point it at the stranger standing in her partner's kitchen.

"I'm Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS, and you're under arrest for—"

"Kensi?" the woman whispered, all of her anger slipping away and her eyes filling with more tears. " _You're_ his Kensi?"

"Who are you?" Kensi demanded again, caught off-guard by the woman's sudden change in demeanor.

"I'm so sorry dear," the woman said, the tears falling freely down her face once again. "My name is Roberta Deeks. I'm Martin's mother."

Kensi's vision blurred as she stood there, still pointing a gun at the woman—Roberta—and trying to process this new information.

Martin's mother. Deeks had a mother. One he never talked about. Or mentioned. Ever.

A memory of a long-ago conversation pulled at her guilty conscience, something about his mother still having something displayed on her fridge. The fact that she could recall nothing else about the woman standing before her just served—in Kensi's mind—as a reminder of how lop-sided their partnership/relationship thing had always been; how much he had always given and she had always taken.

"How about you… lower your weapon, dear?" Roberta tentatively suggested, abruptly bringing Kensi back to the present situation. Suddenly realizing she was holding the dead love of her life's mother at gun point, Kensi immediately lowered the gun.

"Oh my—I'm so sor—I mean, I didn't know—"

"It's okay, dear," Roberta said, stepping forward and pulling Kensi's stiff, tense body into a hug. Kensi didn't know how to react, so she just stood there, arms at her sides as Roberta soothingly rubbed her back. Perhaps sensing Kensi's discomfort, she stepped back.

"I'm so sorry," Kensi said, finally finding her voice. "I didn't know anyone would be here—I didn't even know I would be here—but when I heard noise inside, I just…"

"You don't have to explain to me, dear," Roberta said softly. She let out a long, sad sigh. "I've put off coming here for weeks. When your boss told me…" she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Kensi swallowed hard to keep her own tears at bay. She knew if she allowed a single tear to fall, the floodgates would open and she'd never be able to stop.

So instead of giving into the tears threatening, she channeled her partner. She set the gun on the counter and pulled Roberta into her arms, offering comfort the only way she knew how, the same way she could imagine Deeks would do if he were here. But he's not, so it's up to her.

* * *

When Roberta tearfully asked for her number, Kensi had every intention of saying no. She had every intention of leaving this stupid side trip to a place where she used to be happy with nothing but an even more depressed psyche. She intended to refuse, turn on her heel and march straight out the door.

But then Roberta turned big, soulful, painfully _familiar_ blue eyes on her, and Kensi was gone. Before she really knew what she was doing, Kensi had given the woman her cell phone number and agreed to meet her for lunch the next week. Then, still stunned from the sudden turn of events, Kensi stammered an excuse and made a hasty retreat.

When she finally reached her car, Kensi couldn't help but sit, still stunned at meeting Deeks's mother. And how was she going to get out of meeting Roberta next week?


	10. A Friend in Afghanistan

_**AN: Hey everyone! (Or, you know, those of you who are still with me!) Thank you all for being so patient! It means to world to me that I'm still getting requests to continue. I know this chapter is shorter than usual, but**_ _ **I have a feeling that this chapter will be worth it!**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

Having been deep in-country for three weeks now, Vostanik Sabatino was more grateful than perhaps necessary when he finally arrived at the small aid station his contact had informed him of.

He smirked to himself. Siva was more than contact, she was a friend—one he hadn't heard from in quite some time. Receiving her message through one of their back channels three days ago had come as a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

Her message had been vague, simply encrypted coordinates and their phrase for a non-urgent but important request for a meeting. Having already been in-country, it was relatively easy to get to her quickly. On top of that, there was a huge storm heading in, and it would be nice to have a compound like the one in front of him to hunker down in.

Approaching the first building, he walked up to a group of three men.

"I am here to meet my friend," he called out in the native tongue, raising his hands up, though the three men were unarmed. He didn't want to cause an unnecessary scene. "Ziva David."

The men relaxed at the familiar name, and the smallest stepped forward.

"She is in the main tent," he said. "She said to expect a strange man, traveling alone."

Sabatino allowed a small smile. "She knows me well."

"Come," the man said, gesturing Sabatino forward.

Sabatino nodded and followed the man toward a tent set up at the center of the camp. His guide left him at the entrance, simply holding up the canvas that covered the entrance.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the changed light, he saw her. She was facing him, her arms casually crossed as her stance was the same firm, confident pose he'd come to expect from her.

"You are late," she said, her voice very matter-of-fact.

"I was a little tied up when I got your message, Zi," he said, allowing a small smirk to cross his feature at the small tell she always had in response to an American idiom. "I got here as quick as I could."

She held her stance for a long moment before a smile finally spread across her face.

"It is good to see you, Vostanik," she said, reaching out and grasping his hand. He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust.

"You know you're the only one who calls me that?"

"And you are the only one who still calls me Zi," she said, sadness briefly crossing her face. Sabatino winced as he realized where his friend's mind had wandered.

"You called me out here?" he prompted, hoping to clear that sudden sadness from her eyes.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I need your help."

"If I can help, you know I will."

Ziva walked to the tent flap and called out in English.

"Sara! Sara, come here, please," she said. A moment later, a small girl walked into the opening. "Could you go find Johnny for me? I think he is helping some of the boys on the east end of camp."

Sara nodded and skipped out of the tent.

"Some time ago, a man came to this camp. He was…" she struggled over the words, "…he was badly beaten. I… Vostanik, he was tortured."

Sabatino's eyes narrowed in surprise. "You're sure?"

"Yes," she said, her voice firm, "You know I would not jest about such a matter."

"Of course not," Sabatino assured her quickly. "Who is this man?"

"That is my problem," Ziva continued. "We are calling him Johnny Doe, as he has no remembrance of his life prior to working up here several months ago now."

Suspicion and protectiveness flared to life within Sabatino. "Could he be a spy? A Taliban member infiltrating—"

"Not Johnny," Ziva said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Okay," Sabatino said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I trust your judgement."

 _For now_ , he added silently. Ziva allowed a relieved smile.

"He barely survived, Vostanik," she said, words spilling out of her mouth with a speed and passion that Sabatino hadn't heard since before her father's death. "But he has recovered, and he has connected with the people here in a way that even I have not been able to."

"So where do I fit into this?" Sabatino asked hesitantly.

"First off," Ziva began slowly, "I am fairly certain Johnny is an American."

"An American?" Sabatino interrupted. "And you're just coming to me now?"

"I know," Ziva said. "I know. But I was not certain, and he really did have much recovery to conquer."

"I understand," Sabatino sighed. "I'm glad you've finally called me, but why did you call me specifically? What can I do for you?"

"Well," Ziva began, her voice becoming excited, "just before I reached out to you, Johnny remembered something. I will let him tell you the full story, but it turns out he was a detective!"

She continued to talk about _Johnny,_ but Sabatino was too shocked to hear it.

 _An American Detective. With no memory. Found in Afghanistan. It can't be… it's not possible…_

"Vostanik?" Ziva's concerned voice cut into his thoughts. "What is wrong?"

Sabatino attempted to gather his thoughts, unsure how to ask the question pinging around in his mind, when a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

"Hey Ziva," Johnny said, entering the tent. "Sara said you needed me?"

"Yes, Johnny," Ziva said, gesturing to the man still behind Sabatino. "I would like you to meet my good friend Vostanik."

Sabatino turned around slowly, still unable to believe his eyes.

"Hey man, I'm Johnny."

Sabatino stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment before he finally found his voice.

"Deeks?!"


	11. LA Dreams

_**AN: Hey everyone! Thank you so much for such a positive response to the last update! Your kind words (and partly my guilt at taking so long before) have prompted me to update again! This is a much longer chapter, and while it doesn't solve the earlier cliff hanger (you'll have to wait a week for that) it does check back in with the team, Kensi and Roberta! Yay!**_

 _ **Enjoy, and please leave a review! They really make my day and help my muse :)**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

Kensi was beyond frustrated. She had volunteered for several night shifts on stakeouts, tried to help with an all-day training session for new NCIS Agents, and was one millisecond from volunteering to scrub all the floors in the mission with a toothbrush so she could honestly tell Roberta she couldn't make it, when Hetty simply sent her back to her desk with a knowing smile.

Kensi plopped down into her chair, let out an exasperated sigh, and began gathering her things. The only way she could get out of this lunch date with Deeks's mother—as lying to her would just be wrong—was if a case suddenly came up. But the team hadn't had a new case since Sabatino had left three weeks ago, and as desperate as Kensi was, lying to Roberta made her feel… well, that just wasn't an option.

"Where are you headed, Kens?" Sam asked, his voice too relaxed and his wording too precise for this to be a casual inquiry.

"Lunch," she said sharply.

"That actually sounds like a great idea," Sam said, rising from his chair and stretching his back. "I'm so sick of this place. If I keep looking at paperwork, I'm going to shoot something. Mind if I tag along?"

"I'm meeting someone," Kensi said, looking down at her desk. When she looked back up, she saw identical looks of shock, horror, and surprise across Sam and Callen's faces. She winced as she realized what that sounded like, but she let them believe whatever they believed, because there was no way she was admitting to meeting Deeks's mother for lunch. That would start a whole new round of questioning that Kensi was most definitely not prepared for.

Without another word, Kensi stood and walked out from behind her desk.

"Have a good lunch, Ms. Blye," Hetty said, somehow appearing out of nowhere. "I don't expect you back here today, and make sure to tell Mrs. Deeks that I say hello."

Kensi didn't dare turn around and look at her teammates, so she just lengthened her stride and exited the building.

* * *

Sam watched Kensi leave, surprise still holding him in place.

"Mrs. Deeks…?" Callen asked hesitantly. "That would be—"

"Mr. Deeks's mother," Hetty confirmed with a nod. Then she turned away and walked to her desk.

"Wow," Callen said after a moment. "Deeks has a mother."

"What did you think, that he was hatched in a lab somewhere?" Nell asked from behind both Sam and Callen. Both men jumped.

"Nell!" Sam exclaimed, finally finding his voice. "You've been spending too much time with Hetty."

Nell just shrugged.

"So… Kensi is having lunch with Deeks's mother," Sam said, still processing that fact. "How did _that_ happen?"

"Hetty knows," Callen said with a shrug. Then, as if realizing the accuracy of his words, he shook his head. "She was probably behind it."

"Probably," Sam shrugged as well. "I wouldn't put it past her."

No one could argue with that, so they fell into silence. The rest of the day passed in relative silence, full of paper work and other tediousness, but they all hoped that Kensi connecting with Deeks's mother was a good thing.

* * *

Kensi pulled up to the address Mrs. Deeks—Roberta—had texted her, surprised to find it was actually a house. Was this the house her partner had grown up in? She briefly glanced around and saw a long walk way leading up to a small, neat front yard surrounded by a medium height white fence. The house itself was tan with blue shutters. It was small but also very tidy.

The very image warred with what she knew her partner's childhood had been like, and she realized that once he'd been able to, Deeks had probably set his mother up here. Suddenly, the idea of talking with this woman—someone she knew loved Deeks as much as she did—was too much to bear. She couldn't do it. But, at the same time, she couldn't find it in herself to drive away. So she just sat there in her car, right in front of Deeks's mother's house. For fifteen minutes.

A sudden tap on her window had Kensi reaching for her gun until she saw the concerned gaze of Deeks—she blinked—the concerned gaze of _Mrs_. Deeks. Kensi removed her hand from her gun, undid her seatbelt, and opened her door.

"Oh sweetheart," Mrs. Deeks said, pulling Kensi into a hug. Kensi went willingly, knowing struggling would be pointless. "I miss him, too."

Kensi didn't know what to say to that, so she just patted Roberta's back awkwardly. Finally the older woman pulled back, reaching her hand up to wipe tears from Kensi's face she hadn't even realized were there.

"Come on now," Mrs. Deeks said, sniffing a little. "Let's go inside. No sense loitering out here, crying and carrying on."

Kensi nodded and followed Mrs. Deeks inside.

"Please, make yourself at home," she said, gesturing to a seat at the kitchen. The aroma of lasagna and garlic bread hit her, and she was overcome with a wave of longing. "I made lasagna," she said, busying herself in the kitchen. "It… it was Marty's favorite."

It took Kensi a moment to comprehend her words. She'd rarely heard her partner referred to by his first name, but hearing it here in this situation seemed right somehow.

"When Marty graduated with his undergraduate degree, we couldn't afford to go out," Mrs. Deeks continued. "So I splurged and bought the supplies for his favorite, homemade lasagna. It was just the two of us, but that was one of my favorite nights." She smiled wistfully, her eyes becoming misty. "He always made me smile. No matter how awful things got, he never lost that ability."

"He makes me smile," Kensi whispered, still unable to refer to Deeks in the past tense. Even now, he still had the ability to bring a smile to her lips. That smile slipped away as she remembered… Deeks wasn't here, sitting with his mother, because of her. It was her fault. "Mrs. Deeks…"

"Please call me Roberta, dear," Roberta said, taking Kensi's hands in hers. "I don't know how things ended between you two, but I just want you to know, he loved you very much."

Kensi's heart broke again as guilt consumed her. But Roberta deserved the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as Kensi could give her.

"I love him, too," she whispered, somehow finding the strength to hold back her tears. "So much."

* * *

Getting a call in the middle of the night was nothing new to Sam Hanna. So, when his cell phone rang early one morning, he rolled over with practiced ease. The digital clock on the bedside read 2:36 A.M. He quietly padded across the room and shut the door behind him so as not to wake Michelle.

"Hello," he answered the unknown number, experienced enough to be awake despite the hour.

"Mr. Hanna," came the familiar voice of the team's tiny, fearless leader.

"Hey Hetty," he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "We got a case?"

"Not 'we', Mr. Hanna," Hetty said. "This is a solo operation. If you decide to accept it, I will need you here within the hour."

Composing his surprise, Sam replied, "Within the hour? Where am I going? What will I be doing?"

Hetty sighed. "I cannot tell you any of that until I have your agreement and your presence at the mission. Can I count on you?"

Sam sighed. Hetty's clandestine attitude was nothing new, and Sam knew she wouldn't ask him to agree to something he would refuse.

"I'll be there within the hour, Hetty."

"I am awaiting your presence," Hetty said, followed by a faint click of the call disconnecting. Sam sighed again, gently set his phone on the table beside the chair he was seated in, and allowed his head to fall into his hands.

The past few months had been hard. Losing Deeks had hit everyone hard—people Sam hadn't even noticed before were grieving Deeks—but no one was taking it as hard as Kensi. If whatever Hetty had planned for him lasted more than a few days, Sam needed to leave instructions with Michelle. He couldn't leave Kensi on her own. He owed Deeks that and so much more.

"Michelle," he said softly, gently touching her arm. Her eyes blinked open at him, and he smiled reassuringly at her. "Hetty called me in. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but it sounded like I'll be traveling."

Michelle sat up, the sleep immediately clearing from her eyes.

"A team mission?" she asked, now fully awake. He shook his head in response, and Michelle nodded. "You don't have to worry about Kensi," she said, reading his mind. "I'll make sure she's taken care of."

Sam smiled. He should've known that he wouldn't even need to ask his wife. She felt the same debt of gratitude towards Deeks as he did. And always would.

"I love you," he said softly, leaning down for a kiss.

"I love you, too," she said back. Then she gave him a light push. "Now go save the world."


	12. A Friend in Afghanistan 2

_**AN: Sunday is update day! I'm posting really early in the morning for me, because I'm on my way to work. So, that said, it would absolutely make my day if I were to come back from work to lots and lots of reviews! (Too overboard on begging for reviews? Meh, I'm okay with that ;) I really like reviews!)**_

 _ **That said, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. Every time I read them, they make my day. And thank you to everyone who has messaged me. Your kind words mean a lot to me.**_

 _ **Also, a special thanks to OhBuddy66, who gave me a pep talk about this chapter. He assures me that it's fine, so I'm gonna go ahead and believe him.**_

 _ **We're back to DEEKS! (He's my favorite, in case you somehow didn't know that already!) So, journey with Johnny as he too discovers Deeks :)**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

"Johnny!" Sara's voice interrupted. Johnny smiled as the little girl bound across the camp towards him. "Johnny!"

Reaching him, she launched herself into his arms, and he caught her, grateful that he was finally healed enough to do so.

"Well, hey Sara!" he said, lifting her up in the air and causing a stream of giggles. "How's my favorite girl today?"

"I'm good," she said as he placed her feet back on the ground. She looked up at him with innocent, dark brown eyes that always managed to soften his heart. "Miss Ziva sent me," she continued. "Her friend just got here. They're in the main tent."

"Well," Johnny said, bending down to Sara's level, "I suppose I should go greet him." Sara nodded. "You go on and play, and I'll meet up with you later."

The little girl grinned, threw her arms around his neck, and then bounded off towards her friends. Johnny smiled as he watched her go. She had opened up so much in the past few months, she was almost a completely different child from the shy, frightened little girl who had comforted him when he'd first awoken here in camp.

Johnny watched her play for a moment before turning toward the main tent. As soon as he turned, apprehension overtook him. Ziva had mentioned a friend who might be able to help him figure out who he was, where he came from. The idea was both exciting and terrifying.

What if he found out who he was, but there was no one waiting for him? What if he was some awful criminal? What if—

As he approached the tent, he broke off those thoughts. They wouldn't help him moving forward.

"Hey Ziva," he said, entering the tent to see Ziva talking to a man facing away from him. "Sara said you needed me?"

"Yes, Johnny," Ziva said, gesturing to the other man Johnny assumed to be the friend they'd been waiting on. "I would like you to meet my good friend Vostanik."

The other man turned around slowly, a strange look in his eyes. Johnny shrugged it off, trusting Ziva's judgement.

"Hey man," he said, extending his hand to the stranger. "I'm Johnny."

For a long moment, nothing happened. The stranger—Vostanik—just stared at Johnny's hand as if it were an alien space ship. Then he sucked in a deep breath.

"Deeks?!" he exclaimed, startling both Johnny and Ziva. Johnny looked over at Ziva, unfamiliar with the word, but she looked equally perplexed.

"Vostanik, what—" Ziva began, but Vostanik cut her off.

"I—I know you, Deeks," Vostanik said to Johnny. "I've worked with you and your team before."

Johnny was speechless. When he'd agreed to start looking into who he might be, he hadn't expected to immediately find the answers.

"I—I don't… I don't understand," Johnny choked out. "You… know me?" He paused again as another thought nearly knocked him off his feet. "My name is… Deeks?"

Vostanik shook his head and ran a hand over his face.

"This is…" he gestured to Johnny and around at Ziva and the camp. "This is insane."

"Yes," Ziva whispered, finally finding her voice again. "How… how about we all sit down and mash this out."

"Hash," Johnny and Vostanik corrected at the same time, breaking the tension slightly.

Johnny managed a small laugh, but it faded quickly.

"You… really don't remember anything?" Vostanik asked. Johnny shook his head, suddenly ashamed of his memory loss.

"We are… friends?" Johnny asked, unsure of the word. It didn't seem to fit quite right. Vostanik let out a real laugh, and Johnny relaxed slightly at the sound.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, shaking his head. "You took pleasure driving me up the wall, and then there's your partner—" He suddenly stopped, and his eyes widened. "Oh god, your partner!"

"I had a partner?" Johnny breathed, a sense of wonder filling him. He felt like this could possibly be something familiar. "What is he like?"

" _She_ ," Vostanik corrected, "is absolutely miserable."

Pain filled Johnny at the idea this woman he couldn't even conjure up feeling miserable.

"Why?" he asked, needing to know the answer but not understanding why.

"Why?" Vostanik repeated. Clearly it was a stupid question. "They—your whole team—think you're dead!"

Again, amazement filled Johnny.

"I have… a _team_?"

The idea of a team—by definition, more than one person—waiting for him, in this case _grieving_ for him, gave him a sense of hope. Maybe he belonged somewhere after all.

Vostanik nodded, but before he could say more, all of the unanswered questions that had been bouncing around in Johnny's mind bubbled to the surface. One question burned brightest of all.

"Do I have a family?" he asked, his words almost tripping over themselves in his hurry to get them out.

Vostanik sighed. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Honestly, I don't know much about you. We've only worked together a few times."

Johnny sighed, disappointed.

"But… that's my name? Deeks?" he asked, turning the name over in his mind. It didn't feel right, but it didn't feel wrong, either. Without his memories, he didn't feel like he could claim that name. It felt like that name belonged to the memories he couldn't grasp, so he would be Johnny until he finally felt like this Deeks person.

"Well, your title was Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD," Vostanik said slowly.

"LAPD," Johnny said, finding the letters didn't mean anything to him. "What is that?"

"Los Angeles Police Department," Vostanik explained. "You—"

"Wait," Ziva interrupted, holding her hand up and narrowing her eyes. "What was a police detective doing in Afghanistan?"

"Is that… not normal?" Johnny asked, genuinely confused.

Vostanik shook his head, raising his eyes to send an apologetic look towards Ziva. Johnny caught her eye, but she seemed as confused by this as he.

"You were the LAPD liaison to NCIS's Los Angeles Office of Special Projects," he said slowly. None of his words really made sense to Johnny, and he looked over to Ziva for an explanation. Her face was pale and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

"NCIS?" she whispered. Vostanik nodded, and she shook her head. "Liaison?" He nodded again.

"Zi—"

"I worked with NCIS for a long time," Ziva said, turning to Johnny. "They were like family to me."

"Were we—"

"No," Ziva said, cutting him off. "I worked out of Washington, D.C."

Johnny furrowed his brow, unable to place the location.

"Washington, D. C. is the capitol of the United States of America, but it is on the opposite side of the country," Vostanik explained, somehow reading Johnny's mind. "That's likely why you two never crossed paths before."

Johnny and Ziva both nodded, absorbing this information.

"What else can you tell me?" Johnny asked after a long moment.

Vostanik sighed.

"Honestly, not much," he said, shaking his head. Then he stepped back. "I should call this in."

Ziva started to protest, but Vostanik held up his hand to stop her.

"His team is falling apart," he said. Johnny felt his heart clench. "I need to call this in, Zi."

She nodded and Vostanik turned away. He pulled out a SAT phone and dialed.

"Are you okay?" Johnny asked Ziva, turning away from the place where Vostanik was communicating with someone to whom he was apparently important. Ziva laughed.

"I believe it is _I_ who should be asking that of _you_ ," she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. Johnny reached out and pulled her into a hug. They stood like that for a long moment before Ziva, stepping back, finally spoke.

"I left NCIS very abruptly," she said, blinking the tears away from her eyes. "But my time with them is… close to my heart."

Johnny nodded and smiled, though he couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy. Ziva's memories caused her some pain, yes, but he could see the love and joy in her eyes as well. He longed for a memory—any memory—to reflect on with so much emotion.

* * *

An hour later, Johnny sat starting out at the scenery from the edge of camp, not really seeing anything. His mind was swimming with even the limited information he was able to learn about himself.

 _My name is Marty Deeks,_ he told himself. _I am a Detective with LAPD, and I have a team who misses me._

He repeated this mantra over and over in his mind, but the words still didn't feel right. They didn't feel like _him_. He couldn't help but feel dejected. How could he be someone he couldn't remember? Would he have to leave this place—and Ziva and Sara and all the others who had helped him through his long, arduous recovery—behind to go back to… Los Angeles? Another unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar customs.

"You're not on watch duty, are you kid?" a familiar gruff voice interrupted his thoughts.

Johnny held himself back from jumping as he was torn from his thoughts and shook his head. He smiled up at Ken and motioned to the space beside him, wordless inviting the older man to join him. Ken didn't smile, but he did lower himself to the ground with a grunt.

"I'm too old for this, kid," he said. Johnny let out a laugh.

"Oh please," he snorted. "You're not that old."

Ken smiled slightly at that.

"What's on your mind, kid?" he asked, somehow sensing Johnny's turbulent thoughts. Johnny sighed.

"A man—Ziva's friend—showed up here today," he said slowly, unsure how to relate the story to someone who hadn't been there. "She called him to see if he could help us find out who I am."

Ken nodded, but Johnny struggled for words.

"Could he not help?" Ken prompted after a long moment.

"No, he was _too_ helpful," Johnny muttered. Ken shot him a confused look, and Johnny looked down at his hands in his lap. "He… knew me. From before."

"Before… you came to us?" Ken asked, clearly surprised. Johnny snorted again.

"That's one way to put it," he said, allowing a short laugh. "Apparently my name is Marty Deeks, and I was the Los Angeles Police Department's liaison to some division of NCIS."

"Marty Deeks," Ken cocked his head to the side and looked over at Johnny. Then he let out an incredulous laugh. Johnny shot him a confused look, and Ken shook his head, amazement spreading across his features. "I'm sorry, kid," he said, shaking his head. "I've been gone looking for your remains, and it turns out you're right here. Alive."

" _You_ were looking for _me_?" Johnny asked, hardly able to believe his ears. " _Why_?"

Ken shook his head.

"Your boss, Henrietta Lange," he said slowly. "I… owe her a favor or two."

"Henrietta Lange," Johnny repeated, rolling the name over in his mind.

"Does that name ring a bell?"

"I wish I could say yes," Johnny said softly. Ken nodded his understanding.

"So this man," Ken began.

"Vostanik," Johnny provided.

"Sabatino?" Ken asked. Johnny shrugged.

"Probably?" he said. "How many Vostaniks could there possibly be in the American CIA?"

Ken laughed. "Not too many."

They were silent for a long moment.

"I just want something that feels familiar," Johnny said softly, breaking the long silence. "I want something to feel _real_."


	13. LA Mission to Afghanistan

_**AN: I'm so very sorry that it has taken so long for another update. I have a multitude of excuses, but I won't bother you with them. Thank you to all who have encouraged me, my friends who I've long since been out-of-touch with, and every one of you who is sticking with this story! I cannot begin to describe to you how much it means to me.**_

 _ **I am struggling with a lot right now, and it felt good to write a bit. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, but please note that I have not read it over. I figured you wouldn't mind. I'm posting, right? Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas! They always help the next chapter, as I have officially come to the end of my outlined plan... so I'm winging it from here :)**_

 _ **Blessings,**_

 _ **bookdiva**_

* * *

"Yes," Henrietta Lange's voice answered.

Sabatino sighed in relief. It had taken him much longer than he'd ever thought possible to track down the NCIS LA OSP leader's direct line. Even now, he didn't have the number. His superior had connected him via an encrypted line out of the CIA after going through more loop-holes than even Sabatino felt were necessary.

"Ms. Lange," Sabatino said, unsure how to even begin to explain the situation of which he was currently smack dab in the middle.

"I believe you know perfectly well that I prefer Hetty, Mr. Sabatino," she stated, matter-of-factly. Moving on before he had the opportunity to respond, she continued, "Now, you went through quite a bit of effort to reach me. What can I do for you?"

Sabatino paused, still not able to find words to convey the news he needed to share.

"I do not plan to wait around all day, Mr. Sabatino," Hetty prompted, her tone firm.

"I am… in Afghanistan," Sabatino began hesitantly. "I received a message from an old friend of mine, needing help identifying an American John Doe who was recovered from the Taliban."

"You believe you've found Mr. Deeks's remains," Hetty said, and for the first time Sabatino heard a crack of emotion in the fierce woman's voice.

"No Hetty," Sabatino said, the words suddenly appearing in his mind. "I found Deeks _alive_."

* * *

Henrietta Lange had been around a rather lengthy period of time. In that time, she'd done everything from day-to-day activities to ruling a country (for 72 hours). Needless to say, it took a great deal to surprise her, and even more than that, it took something absolutely earth-shattering to leave her questioning what to do next. She fingered a letter that she'd only taken out a few times before. Usually, when she lost an agent, she tried to turn in her resignation. With Mr. Deeks, however, she'd had an unusual reaction. Instead of giving up, waving the white flag, she had felt a renewed sense of drive for her work.

She smirked at the thought of her Detective—her _living_ Detective—and what he would say now. Her smirk slipped, however, as she sighed. Any moment now, Mr. Hanna would arrive, and it would be her duty to read him into the situation. Somehow, she needed to convince her senior agent that her plan would be their best option.

Much easier said than done.

* * *

As Sam walked into the mission a little after 3 AM, he was still fighting off remnants of sleepiness. His adrenaline was not yet pumping, but his curiosity was piqued at this 3 AM meeting with his boss. Without the remaining members of his team.

When he finally saw her, she was sitting at her desk, staring off into space. She was as still as a statue, but Sam knew she saw him.

"What's up, Hetty?" Sam asked, coming to a stop in front of her desk. She shook her head.

"Not here, Mr. Hanna," she said, rising and coming around her desk. "Come."

Without making a sound, the pair climbed the steps to OPS. Sam followed Hetty in confused silence, finally breaking the tense pause when she sealed them into OPS.

"What's going on, Hetty?" Sam asked firmly, done with the clandestine, cloak-and-dagger act.

"I have received some news," Hetty began hesitantly. "It is information I need to be verified as quickly as possible."

"And you chose me?" Sam questioned. Usually, such stealth intelligence missions were better suited to his partner.

"I believe this is as personal for you as it is for me—for all of us—but I think for you especially."

Her words were still cryptic, but Sam deduced enough to know that whatever the mission, he'd be taking it.

"It will require you to leave immediately," Hetty warned before Sam could agree. He nodded, unsurprised by her words.

"I figured as much, Hetty," he said.

"And you cannot say a word to anyone about what is said in this room," she continued, putting more emphasis than ever on the words he'd heard many times before. "No matter how much you believe an individual may deserve or even _need_ to know," she continued, her eyes deadly serious, "no one outside of this room is to know."

"Understood," Sam said shortly, steeling himself for whatever bomb Hetty was going to drop. She sighed and seemed to brace herself as well.

"Including every single member of your team," Hetty clarified. "No matter your personal convictions. Can you agree to that?"

Sam nodded again, a feeling of unease striking him, and Hetty sighed again.

"Two hours ago," she began, "I was contacted by Mr. Sabatino. He believes he has found our Mr. Deeks."

Sam didn't really know what he'd been expecting—after all, with Hetty it could always be anything—but he hadn't even considered anything to do with Deeks.

Once the shock faded, Sam felt his shoulders straighten. Hetty's words made sense now, and Sam squared his shoulders against the responsibility he felt. Sabatino must have somehow discovered Deeks's remains, and Hetty wanted Sam to go and oversee the transfer of his teammate.

Sam swallowed.

"I would be honored to bring Deeks home," he said, fighting back the emotion. He could even understand why Hetty was keeping Kensi out of this. Even without her erratic behavior, until the identity of the remains was confirmed, it would be pointless to bring up the topic. Sam took a deep breath and pushed onward. "Where will identification take place?"

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said, holding her hand up to forestall his questions. "There will be no need for identification." Confusion gripped Sam, but Hetty pushed on without pause. "Mr. Sabatino was called to Afghanistan by an aid-worker friend to help her identify an American John Doe with severe retrograde amnesia." She paused, and Sam's confusion grew. "Mr. Sabatino believes the man to be our Mr. Deeks."

Sam froze as his mind struggled to comprehend Hetty's words.

"You mean…" he trailed off, still trying to grasp it. "Deeks is… _alive_?"

"Yes, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said, her tone cool even while a flash in her eyes belied her façade. "According to Agent Sabatino's estimation."

"After all this time…" Sam trailed off, trying to wrap his mind around it. "Hetty, it's been over three months since the explosion!"

Hetty nodded sagely.

"Yes, Mr. Hanna," she said. "Apparently, when they found him he was being… questioned."

Sam felt his heart sink down to his toes, and his whole body went numb as he relived one of the worst days of his life. _Torture._

"Tortured," he whispered, his resolve steeling. "Again."

"According to the attending physician, yes," Hetty said. "That is the conclusion they drew from his injuries."

Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts and set his jaw.

"Is there anything else I need to know before I leave?"

Hetty shook her head.

* * *

Not forty-five minutes later, Sam was in the air on his way to Afghanistan. It was still an ungodly hour in LA, but Sam couldn't sleep. His mind was whirling over the bomb he'd just absorbed.

Deeks. _Alive._ Amnesia.

It was a lot to take in.

No matter how hard he tried not to allow it—and it was an impressive effort, because he was a hardened NCIS agent and an experienced undercover operator—Sam could feel his heart swelling with hope.

The flight stretched on forever, and only Sam's years of training allowed him to eventually fall asleep. He knew, when the plane landed, he would need his mind clear.

* * *

When the plane touched down, Sam was utterly still in his seat. Internally, his mind was moving a mile a minute, but his disciplined nature kept his body still. When the cargo hatch opened, Sam squinted at a figure. He rose and walked toward the other man, making out the tall frame of an older man.

 _Not Deeks._

"Agent Sam Hanna," Sam introduced himself, eager to get to wherever Deeks was and bring the other man home.

"Yes," the older man said, gripping Sam's outstretched hand tightly. "Henrietta and Vostanik said to expect you. Come with me."

Without another word, the man turned away and strode toward a beat up old clunker. Sam kept up easily, and eased into the passenger's side of the vehicle.

"And you are…?" Sam prompted as they drove into the desert and the older man had still not offered up a name.

"You can call me Ken," he said simply. Sam nodded and waited for Ken to say something more, but he never did. The silence stretched on for what seemed like ages. Miles of desert terrain passed by, Sam's training demanding that he pay attention to landmarks and directions, before Ken spoke again.

"So you know Johnny, huh?" the man asked. Sam bristled at the name. Hetty's briefing had been thorough—Sam knew the man meant Deeks—but the familiar way the man said the unfamiliar name rubbed Sam the wrong way.

"Deeks," Sam corrected him, his tone harsher than strictly necessary. "And yeah. I know him well."

Ken nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Why?" Sam prompted, upset that the older man was succeeding in getting under his skin. Ken shrugged, but Sam could tell that he was anything but relaxed.

"I'm just wondering if Johnny will really want to come back with you," he said matter-of-factly. "He really seems to fit in at camp. The people have helped him find peace."

Sam gaped at the man who was no more than a stranger.

"Deeks has to come back!" Sam exclaimed. Until that very moment, Deeks not returning hadn't even crossed Sam's mind. "How could he not?"

Ken sighed. "Look," he said firmly, "I'm not trying to overstep. But I've come to care about Johnny—" at Sam's withering look, Ken paused, "— _Deeks_ ," he corrected himself, "in the last few months. And the amnesia thing… it's not an act. It's been really tough on him. But he's really made a place for himself at the camp. And he's really been making a difference with those kids."

Sam chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me," he said, feeling less threatened after Ken's heartfelt explanation. "But I can't leave him here. If I do… I'm pretty sure we'll lose Kensi."

Sam closed his eyes against the scene he could see in his mind if Deeks—alive and well—simply chose not to return. He was so caught up in the nightmarish version of the future that he almost missed Ken's slight gasp.

"Lose Kensi?" he repeated, his tone containing a concern that Sam couldn't quite place.

Sam sighed, but he really felt the need to make Ken understand the importance of Deeks returning home to LA with him. He didn't know what it was about the older man, but if he had any sway over Deeks, Sam wanted Ken on his side.

"His partner, NCIS Agent Kensi Blye," Sam explained. "We were actually here to rescue her when the mission went south, and we believed Deeks had been killed. She blames herself." Sam sighed again, unsure what it was that compelled him to keep sharing with Ken. "It would be bad enough it they were just partners, but they're… well, it's complicated. Damn if I've ever understood their _thing_ , but they make each other better." He paused, then added, "I've had a hell of a time keeping her alive these last few months. Right now, she seems hell bent on joining Deeks by dying in the line of duty—making reckless decisions, walking into gunfights with knives, not sleeping, not talking—and I'm running out of ways to protect her from herself."

Sam glanced over at Ken, but the older man was staring straight ahead with a mask on his face that Sam was all too familiar with. It was a mask Sam himself donned when a case was hitting too close to home for him.

"Well then," Ken said, going from stoic silence to standing and speaking so quickly, Sam startled slightly. "Deeks must return with you."

Sam nodded mutely in response, unable to comprehend the sudden change in Ken's demeanor and his concession on Deeks's name.

"It's not just Kensi," Sam felt compelled to add. "Our whole team is falling apart. Our whole office." He shook his head. "It's like we didn't realize that he was the glue holding all of us together until he wasn't there to hold us together anymore. In the years we've spent together, we've become more than a team. We're like a majorly dysfunctional family."

The vehicle slowed as a gathering of tents and buildings became visible in the distance. Ken stared straight ahead.

"Is that…?" Sam trailed off, unable to finish the question. He glanced over at Ken, but the man refused to make eye contact.

"Yes," he said. "You will see your brother soon."


End file.
